The Good Kind
by Coffeemecrazy
Summary: We cannot rebel because we have divided loyalties and at the heart of it all, we are good people. We do the right thing. We are the good kind, or at the very least, we are trying to be. -AU-
1. Lance

_"Every man is guilty of all the good he didn't do" – Voltaire_

**Author's note:** Inspired by the BBC series called 'mouth to mouth'. I didn't really like all of it but the two characters Tyler and Devine were mind blowingly good and they sort of reminded me of a modern day Arthur and Gwen. Actually, all the acting was all mind blowingly good (take note: up and coming young Brit actors). I'd like to think I captured the essence of the series, so any kind of comments are welcome. Hope you like it!

-x-

**1. Lance.**

I didn't like him when I first met him.

To be fair though, as far as first impressions go, I don't, like, make a good one yeah? I didn't like him because he was all up in your face and preening himself this way and that. God knows no girl likes a man vainer than herself, you know?

I didn't like him the second time I met him. 'What a prick!,' I thought, only difference this time is that it wasn't me he was being a prick to, it was some poor guy. Couldn't pick on someone his own size, he couldn't. I don't like bullies and at that moment in time, Arthur Pendragon was one big bully.

He had always been on the periphery of my world, existing but not really being a constant. He was nothing to me but my best friend's boyfriend, another accessory, another brief talking point.

And then he faded to the back of my mind, nothing but a black stain on a blank canvas when Lance came. I thought to myself, 'yeah, now here's a boy who's really got his life together.' Yeah. I was deluded like that. When you're twenty though, you don't really got it all sorted, do you? I don't know. Maybe it was his hair. Yeah that was it. I was blinded by his shiny shiny hair.

Whatever.

The point was that Lance was nothing Arthur was. Yeah he didn't grow up with that silver spoon in his mouth and yeah, you know, he got into scraps and was awful at getting himself out. He also didn't have Daddy's money to help him. But he was noble, and that, that was something I'd almost given up on. Lance had all the traits of a prince charming, but none of the substance. Push came to shove and life got in the way.

He split a month ago.

Heartbroken, I was. The tears wouldn't come though. They couldn't. We'd never really been an item, a couple or any of that hoopla. He texted me, of course. Nine words, simple and bittersweet. In the middle of the night. It was something to wake up to, let me tell you that.

had2go been fun keep n touch, yea?

Never had nine words (if you could call them that) left me so wrong. For all his honour and all his sugar coated words, Lance didn't have his shit together, no more than any of us did. I think I wanted someone who knew where they were going in life, so I'd be taken along for the ride. You see, the thing was, I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up.

I still don't.


	2. Morgana

**2. Morgana.**

I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. That's what makes me so different to Morgana. Chalk and cheese we are. Still are, really. Love her to bits though. Always will. Even now.

Haven't talked to her in days. Two weeks, almost. Merlin says he sees her briefly, a flash of hair here and there. Apparently it's shorter now. Angrier, almost. I don't ask how hair can be angry, I just accept it and give her space.

I can't feel guilty though. Because Morgana, as beautiful and as compassionate and as determined as she is, doesn't get it. She had – has – her causes and her campaigns and that left him nowhere. It was pretty obvious that he meant little, because you know, if he meant more then maybe she would have tried harder.

"Oh shut up Gwen," she says to me, pulling two dresses out her wardrobe and holding them up for me to choose. I pick the green one, because green's her thing. It brings out the colour of her eyes, even when she's half scrunched them to stick her tongue out at me.

I laugh, as she slips into her ensuite bathroom to change into the dress. "No really Morgana," I hear myself saying because I've got this verbal diarrhoea, yeah, and I just can't help myself. "You should talk to him. Make him dinner or something."

She dismisses my advice, because she's got a billion things to do, and none of them concern Arthur. In the battle between boyfriend and third world poverty, he just doesn't stand a chance. Poor sod, I think.

So the next day finds me on his doorstep, because he's sick and Morgana is away and Merlin can't (Arthur says shouldn't) cook. One hand holds the bag, almost bursting with the ingredients for chicken soup and the other shakily presses the sleek silver button on the intercom.

That's how it starts.

Although, if you really want to know how it started, I should go all the way back. Back before Lance, before Merlin and even before Morgana. Because, now that I think about, and I mean really think about it, I met him first. And, when I think about that, really, really hard, I kissed him first.


	3. William

**3. William**

It's December. December thirty first, to be exact. The air is stifling, the cool drink welcome as it's pressed into my hand. I think, 'so this is how the other half lives,' as the bubbles pop, the champagne slipping down my throat. It's fruity and it makes the world take on a warm hue.

He is staring down at the table. I can see him from across the room, can feel it in my bones that's he's bored. One look is more than a million words. 'How can he be bored?' I think, taking in the opulence and grandeur of the club, relishing the champagne and the feel of the smooth leather on the back of my bare arms. And when I'm staring at him, staring miserably at the table, he looks up and it's like someone cut the music. Time stops and something happens.

It's beautiful, magical almost and then his blue eyes look away and he puts his arm around a girl who is far too friendly to be just a friend.

And the magic moment's over, almost like I imagined it. I don't know. Maybe I did imagine it, maybe it was the champagne. I shake my head, shaking the thought of him away, shaking the feeling of blue eyes burning holes in my back as I get up to go to the bar for a new drink.

Someone approaches me when I'm ordering a cocktail. Its fun and festive (it comes with a sparkler and costs a small arm and a leg) and it'll take the edge right off the fact that I really don't like clubs or dancing. Or New Year's Eve. His name is William O'Deira, and he's quite funny (or at least his expressions are funny. I can't hear in the club. It's very loud; my eardrums are numb.). He buys me a drink and I buy him one. We're so tipsy that everything is hilarious. Everything's still funny as we stumble out the club for some air, propping each other up, the cold slamming into us.

I don't feel it. I don't feel anything past my nose, a testament to how drunk I am.

William supports my body weight shakily, settling me down on the bench securely as he pulls out a cigarette, offering me one.

"No thanks."

He shrugs, lighting up as I curl up in his discarded jacket, because it's cosy and I'm a little tired. I'm not used to being out past ten.

And then, as the clock chimes eleven, he tosses his cigarette to the ground, the sole of his shoes stubbing it out. One hand reaches out to me, the invitation silent, the gesture noble and almost regal. I take it, our eyes locking and our smiles silly as we dance to the chimes. And then, someone clears their throat and we stop giggling to catch sight of this intruder.

He's surrounded by people, royal red against a swarm of dreary blacks and greys. The world is no longer warm. It is still and it eerily quiet, the sound of the river sloshing quietly in the background. He approaches William, splitting from the group. he still looks fucking bored out of his mind.

William claps him on the back, standing up to greet him. we are introduced. "Gwen, this is Arthur. Arthur, Gwen." They're old school chums. Apparently.

I nod in acknowledgement, not trusting my mouth to open.

Arthur shrugs Williams' arm off his shoulder. "This is suede." He says it like it's an excuse to be rude. Vain bastard. 'Who wears suede anyway?,' I think as I toe the pavement in PVC flats.

I dislike him from there on out.

William only laughs, enquiring about his welfare. His replies are sullen, clipped as if he can't wait to get away from us. One hand is fiddling with his hair, looking at his reflection in a nearby car window. Our gazes keep on meeting in the reflection and each time I duck my head to hide my scorn. I can't wait for him to go away. And as we follow him to seek shelter in his limo, droplets fallings from the sky, I still dislike him.

The limo is well stocked, and I sip my champagne out of politeness and part boredom. We drive aimlessly into the night, spending most our time in traffic as the world stop to celebrate the end of another year, or the beginning of a new one. I celebrate nothing. It's just another day.

I still dislike him three glasses of champagne later, even while he's clumsily pouring me a glass. This champagne is more sumptuous than the one in the bar – I can tell by the label – amd the world is once again fuzzy. My taste buds go haywire, flavours tripping over my tongue, bubbles popping in my throat, warming me from the inside out. William is out for the count, a champagne cork wedged up one nostril.

He's telling me about something. I don't know. I'm not sure he knows either. It's just words. Words. Sounds and syllables. Noise, really. We're sitting side by side, so close I can feel his gentle breath on my collarbone, as he leans a weary head on my shoulder.

Suddenly, he's not himself, he's someone else. Under the guise of champagne, he is fuzzier, more tolerable; nicer somehow. He is almost as beautiful as he is on the outside, hair mussed to a faint golden halo, stare less harsh, more joy, more smiles. In that moment, he is just a boy and I am just a girl.

It is nice.

I reach for the champagne bottle because it's a pretty colour and its contents taste like a rainbow. He's had the same idea too, and our fingertips brush.

It's like the world has just ended.

It's like an electric shock, but the good kind, you know. It isn't magic. It can't be. Something like this should be momentous, should have the power to stop time, disprove the big bang. Or something. It should be something solid, something definite, something tangible. It's more than magic. It's science.

He leans in slowly, and I inhale. He smells so good, like suede and musk and other nice things. I tilt my head, and I close my eyes and just feel. He tastes like champagne and unspoken promises. He is sunshine come to life, captured in human form. He is warm and I think briefly that he feels like home, even though he can't be home because he's not a house. Or whatever.

I lean into him, mashing my lips against his, sealing the kiss. I don't ever want to move. Or breathe or do anything that involves me taking my lips off his.

"Ahem." The driver is nonchalant, unrepentant for interrupting as we roll to a stop. He wants to know where to go now it's near the end of his shift. I think he should be condemned to the inner ring of hell, specially reserved for kiss ruining drivers like him. My eyes will not open, but when they do, Arthur is running a hand through his hair, curt orders to drive me home falling from his lips. He is in a hurry to leave, and I am in no hurry to have him leave. Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimes. Whatever this is, it's over. The mood is broken.

His lips are smudged with my lipstick, coral on his swollen lips as he tugs William out of the limo with him. They're getting a cab, he's decided. I get the Cinderella carriage home.

He doesn't look at me once, doesn't say goodbye or even acknowledge my presence. I fall into bed that night, dreaming of blue eyes and lipstick stained lips and nothing more. And when I wake up, in a new year, with an aching head and William's number smudgingly scrawled onto my arm with eyeliner, I barely remember him at all.


	4. Uther

**4. Uther**

It's mid February. It's still bloody freezing. My arse is freezing so much, I think it's going to bloody fall off as I wait for the bloody bus that's bloody late. Again.

Great. It's raining. Bloody great. It's raining. Again.

You'd think I'd be used to this by now. Bad weather, late buses. Welcome to London! They should make a sign; charge tourists a fiver a photo. Make a fortune, they would. Maybe enough to buy the sun, although with global warming and everything that might not be an issue. I keep my hands in my pockets or my fingers are going to turn blue or something and I'm about to just give up and go home and curl up back in bed, when all I can feel is the warming touch of a very hot cup of coffee falling at my feet and seeping to the white.

"Shit," some posh girl says, leather gloves dripping with coffee. One hand is holding a flimsy plastic lid, the other hand is outstretched, position frozen as the coffee cup bounces on the pavement, black spilling against a dreary grey. "Fuck, I didn't get you did I?" Her concern is genuine, tired green eyes peering at me from beneath fluttery eyelashes.

"Just a bit." I laugh it off as she fusses over the fact her coffee is now turning my white shoe an unholy shade of brown. They're new, canvas. Cost me a tenner in the sale. It's nothing a bit of water and soap won't fix. I think.

She's still fussing, the plastic lid now discarded, along with the coffee cup in a nearby bin. "Should have more public recycling bins," she mutters as she dumps them reluctantly.

'Great, one of those green nutters,' I think. She turns to me and says, "Where are you going to? I'll give you a lift. Least I could do after ruining your lovely shoes."

I'm about to protest, say "no, thanks, its fine," because one, I don't know her and two, she could be like an axe murderer or something. She knows I'm about to protest, lips smirking slightly, eyes focused behind me. I follow her eye line to the long queue that grows by the millisecond, the rain proper pissing down now and water streaking down my forehead to fall onto my cheeks, dripping off my nose and I graciously accept. "That would be nice. Thanks."

She's not an axe murderer, but she is posh. Her name is Morgana, and her lift turns out to be a limo ride. The last time I was in a limo, I was proper smashed, and I was licking my own forehead. Champagne, man. I'm never touching the stuff again.

This limo is different. It's elegant with its cream interior instead of black and slick with harsh edges. It's welcoming, but in the kind of way that makes you super aware of how scruffy you nails are and how maybe you should really throw out the jeans you're wearing even though they're your favourite pair, because they've got holes in the right knee where the washing machine tried to eat them three months ago. The limo is beautiful and pristine and I clearly don't belong.

"Where to?" asks the driver as the man beside me lowers his broadsheet newspaper to give me a once over.

"Morgana, what is this?"

I'm dirt, dirt under his shoes. Dirt he can just flick away with one wave of his hand that ain't ever done a hard day's work in his life. His suit is immaculate, tailored and probably from Saville row. His hair is receding but coated in product worth more than my whole outfit put together.

"Oh sorry Uther." Morgana gives him a charming smile and his gaze sort of softens. I don't think his Botox will allow any more facial expression than that. "This is –." She turns to me.

"Gwen," I say as I offer my hand for Uther to shake. He stares at it as it hangs limply in the air. I withdraw it.

Morgana flicks Uther a look he doesn't catch, and one I can't decipher. "Gwen," she repeats after me and then turns back to Uther. "She's my friend," she says even though we've only met like, five seconds ago. "We're going to give her a lift, if you don't mind taking a little detour that is?" it's not a question.

Uther looks like it isn't okay, thank-you-very-much, but he doesn't say a word, just presses his lips together and returns to his paper.

Morgana tosses her beautiful long hair, hair that should be in a magazine or on Rapunzel's head, and turns to me, pearly whites out, ruby lips curled into a charming smile. "Now, where are we dropping you off?"

I ask if she can drop me off at Regent Street.

"Sure, we can sweetie."

I look at the driver. "Do you need any help getting there?"

In the rear view mirror he just smiles and shakes his head as Morgana laughs. Just like her, her laugh is fucking beautiful, fairy bells and tinkling chimes. "Don't worry about Leon, darling. I got him sat-nav for Christmas."

His smile just grows as she turns her head towards the window. His eyes strain for a glimpse of her in the mirror, before they flick forwards just as quickly. Uther, shield away from the world by his paper, doesn't notice. I get the feeling he doesn't notice a lot of things.

She turns to me, nodding at the rain trickling down the tinted glass. "Is it always like this?" There is a lilt to her voice. She's Irish. With that beautiful ivory and raven colouring, what else could she could be?

I nod. "Yeah. Bloody awful isn't it? Raining one minute, sunny the next."

She gives a little smile, like she's a million miles away. "Reminds me of home," she says lightly.

I enquire about that, but she avoids the topic. I find out later she's an orphan. Home is no longer home; she has no one to go home to.

The conversation stalls, and Uther lowers his paper. "Are we there yet?" He does not sound like a petulant child, even though I suspect that is what he really is, underneath all that cologne and expensive imported cloth.

Leon appeases him. "Ten more minutes." We both catch Morgana's tut and eye roll and share a smile in the mirror.

We move slowly down the crowded road. I could walk faster than this, but Morgana is entertaining and enthusiastic and time seems to fly by. She is easy to talk to, easier still to like. We click, something clicks. It's like destiny.

And all because of one cup of coffee.

The limo rolls to a halt. "Thanks for the ride. It was lovely meeting you Morgana." I really mean it. "Uther," I acknowledge him because it would be rude not to. His has not such qualms as he retreats behind his newspaper again.

Morgana grabs my arm as I am halfway out the door. "Wait." She is hesitant almost. It's nice to see the bright and the beautiful are just as self conscious like me. "Maybe we could have coffee sometime yeah?" her smile is nervous, her teeth worrying her lower lip. "I promise I won't ruin your shoes again."

I feel sorry for her. She looks like a puppy, and I want to hug her but Uther wouldn't approve. Instead I smile and say, "Sure." We exchange numbers, Uther impatiently tapping his foot as I rattle off a reel of digits, her swarsoki encrusted nails carefully pressing them into her phone.

That is how our friendship starts. And how I get onto Uther Pendragon's radar.

I fade in and out of his radar, depending on Morgana's social calendar. She is compelled to go to all Pendragon events, because she is the girlfriend of Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon. She does not like the company there, and according to her, I am good company. My name is always on the guest list, and the food is always free. Also, Merlin is there. Life is pretty sweet if I count my blessings.

Unfortunately though, Uther is a compulsory figure in my life. Arthur too. They are two peas in a pod, one older and more set in his ways, the other on the exactly the same path. I do not like either.

"Why don't anteaters get sick?" Merlin asks me at the dinner table. We're at a function for cancer. Or some kind of tragic incurable disease. Merlin and I are the obligatory charity cases, standing in the corner in our borrowed finery. Cinder and Cinderella. I think that the amount of money spent on this lavish event could save more lives, benefit more people but apparently that's not how the bourgeoisie do things.

I shake my head. "I don't know, why don't anteaters get sick?"

Merlin lets loose a self satisfied grin. "Because they're full of anty-bodies."

I groan, a giggle escaping my lips. From across the table, Uther catches the punch line and his expression does not change. I have never seen him smile. I do not think he knows how.

Morgana joins in my laughter as Merlin turns to her and recites the joke. Even Arthur cracks a small smile, his jaw ticking as he masticates a large mouthful of herb encrusted lamb. Our eyes lock and I widen my grin a little as he rolls his eyes looking at Merlin telling yet another joke to a very amused Morgana. I giggle, shaking my head and he smiles in return, the corners of his lips turning up and blinding me. I go to bed that night, thinking h should smile more often. As we look down, eyes on our Michelin starred dinner; I can feel Uther's eyes searing holes in my forehead. It is uncomfortable.

One week later, disaster strikes. My father has no job. The world economy is in crisis.

There are about a million things that could happen to us that are worse than this, but considering we are a family of limited means, this is up there with the list of million bad things that could ever happen. Morgana finds out when she comes to visit. She is outraged, and more vocal than I could ever be. Her arguments are persuasive, eloquent, a result of many years of private education. She takes them all to Uther.

He is adamant in his stance. Money is scarce, he says. Hard decisions have had to be made, to maintain the lifestyle they lead. Executive decision, are his exact words. 'Selfish,' I think. "We are in the middle of a credit crunch," he says. "It was the right decision for the company. Tom is a talented man. He'll get another job." it is clear he does not know who this 'Tom' is. He does not care.

Has he not heard about the high rate of unemployment? Or does his paper not report things that only affect ordinary men, and not superstar scientists like him? Does he have no soul, no virtue? Does he realise how this will affect people's lives? Does he realise how this will affect mine?

Morgana is incensed. She is bright and compassionate and she has never been told no. It proves a deadly combination. Morgana is a pin up for the less fortunate. This is where it begins.

Uther does not take kindly to the fact that she is leading the petition against him. She might be his future daughter in law, but there is a line and she is this close to crossing it. His workers are boycotting work; his entire empire is falling at the feet of one waif of a girl who will not heed to his commands. Arthur, according to Merlin is working overtime and sometimes well into the night to compensate for all the board members that have left Uther high and dry. It is eventually Arthur, aided by Merlin who convinces the workers to work and coaxes the empire back to its former glory.

August is the month Uther Pendragon realises that the world does not revolve around him.

September is the month Morgana relinquishes ties with him. I can tell it hurts him more than he cares to admit. It hurts both him and Arthur. They provide for her, write her letters, sometimes send cheques and sometimes cash. Their offerings land on my doormat, the embossed company envelope a rich red edged with gold. They end up in the post, a 'return to sender' scrawled across the top in angry pen.

He comes to see her once and once only. It one week after she has had another blazing argument with him, about the way his pharmaceutical company manages the supply of drugs for AIDs. Morgana has slaved for weeks over the figures, over the studies, clinical trials, anything she can get her hands on, and her case has been dismissed. She is not just a pretty face. She wants to change the world.

Uther does not agree.

He is set in his old ways, explains Arthur. "There are other ways to win him over." He gives me a look I cannot decipher.

Morgana is despondent. "Why? Why do I always have to do things his way?" She is becoming more dissatisfied, more rebellious. It is not enough, this is not enough. I just hope I don't get left behind.

Like Uther. He has not lost a daughter in law. He has lost a daughter. Arthur and Morgana have scarcely been together six months, he has known her for less than five but he feels her loss keenly. It is rumoured she reminds him of his wife, who he will forever mourn. It's rumoured that he would have gone after her himself had his son not got there first. I do not believe these rumours. They are just that. Rumours. They have no basis on real life, no applicability to the real world. I think Morgana fills a gap in his life, like she does in all our lives. I think Morgana is moving on, and Uther is the first casualty. He will not be the last.

Arthur is next. They argue all the time, Merlin and I in the next room playing Nintendo Wii, trying to give them privacy by turning the TV up to full volume, discreetly. It is easier said than done, as I can only take so many minutes of Mario Kart's overly cheerful tune.

Morgana storms out the flat. She slams the door behind her, knocking over the coat stand in the hallway. Arthur emerges from the bedroom, sinking into the couch. His mobile buzzes on the table he flips it over and sighs tiredly, on hand rubbing his chin. He hasn't shaved. Hasn't had time to between the meetings and the paperwork and the clinical trials and the arguments with Morgana. "I've got to call my father," he mutters and excuses himself.

I don't see Morgana for a week. She's organising a protest.

The next time someone speaks of Uther to me, it's Arthur. He is worried. Business has been going badly, the clinical trial they are doing has run into some trouble. It's supposed to be Uther's legacy. Its fate lies in Arthurs hands.

It is that month that Arthur becomes a man, steps up to the plate and starts to fulfil his destiny. And it is that month I find him on my doorstep. That month, a blistery November, I realise I am in love.

Uther treats Lance the same way he treats me. With aloof indifference. Except for when he wants something. We are at one of his midsummer soirees, Lance the plus one of a society girl. His difference to Arthur is striking. Where Arthur is pale and withdrawn, Lance is warm and funny. He is the most charming man I have ever met.

Of course I am attracted to him. He does not deny what may be.

We leave together that night, his society girl blasé because she has found a 'better fish'. He's richer, that's for sure.

Uther is in a good mood; rumours are the beautiful Lady Katrina has caught his interest. He is a fool in love. He acknowledges us as we leave; he even shakes Lance's hand. Lance tells him how much one of Uther's papers changed his view on antidepressants used in the treatment of temporomandibular disorder pain while I kiss Morgana good bye. She is the picture of innocence, of coiffed hair and trailing hems. There is no sign yet of the anger she will later unleash upon us all.

I keep in contact with Lance, through the wonders of modern technology. Email, mostly. His replies are always sporadic and infrequent, flowing. Mine are punctual and inquiring. His world is fascinating.

The words of his replies are music. They dance around my head and I brush my teeth to similes and funny little anecdotes.

The messages stop in August, when I find him at another of Uther's parties. He is a guest this time, an attendee of his own right. I am my best friend's plus one, and she is her boyfriends plus one. Morgana catches sight of him first, nudging me not so subtly to get my attention.

He sees me first. "I was hoping you'd be here." he offers me his sunflower, the one tucked in his button hole. I take it gently twirling the stem between my fingertips. It is an apology for dropping off the radar, for deserting me.

I notice the cream designer suit that fits him well ("Rented." He shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably), the hair that is even longer than before ("Been a busy month. Haven't had time to cut it."). He avoids all conversation of work like the plague, refusing to talk about his research.

I already know.

It is not a secret that Lance's research grant has fallen through. Morgana told me after we had the bitch fest and the weekend of wallowing about men and man related issues in general. He and Uther disagree on many things, and lance has too much pride to turn to Uther to fund his work. I presume the preliminary results lie buried somewhere, underneath piles and piles of clothes (Lance hates ironing.) and yet, here he is, cap in hand, the proverbial biomedical researcher here at a Pendragon event. He has been working the room, I see, various business cards poking out his breast pocket.

I tuck the sunflower behind my ear. It matches my dress. "You're back," I simply say. I want to ask him about his ambitions, about what happened to changing the world, saving lives. I am just an engineer; my mind does not function in compounds and chemical interactions. I am solid and I am reliable, and I can tell you how an aeroplane works but I cannot fend death off.

Not like Lance can.

Not like Uther has the power to. Uther approaches us now. He is all smiles, all thoughts of Lady Catrina and their twenty two minute marriage behind him. "Ah, Lance," he says like they're best of friends. "The man I was looking for." Niceties over, his talk turns to business. I excuse myself and Lance looks apologetically at me. Business before pleasure. I totally get that.

I bump into Arthur as I am looking for Morgana who has made herself scarce in the delusions that leaving Lance and I alone together will automatically equal some kind of ravishing. "Gwen, have you seen...Oh." He looks at me. Really looks at me. He clears his throat. "You look nice."

I blush. "Thank you. You look nice too." He is dressed casually, white shirt, open collar, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He looks good.

"Well," he clears his throat again. "I should go. Mingle."

"Right."

The air is tense. It would be. He is my best friend's boyfriend. We kissed thirty seven hours ago. He is my best friend's boyfriend.

My stomach churns guilt, flip flopping uncomfortably. I watch him approach Morgana, her head tiling to lean into the kiss he presses to the corner of her curved lips. My stomach churns again. This time I do not feel guilt. I feel jealousy. I have no right.

I make my excuses and go.

On the way out, I hear a solitary voice. It is commanding, commandeering and brusque. I know that voice. It is Uther Pendragon.

He is on his Blackberry, heels clicking impatiently on the tiles as he paces the white marble of the hallway. "Just see that is done," he finally barks, hanging up. He brushes past me as I press my back to a slender pillar, bending all but literally over to let his pass.

I stare at his back, as he sweeps into the ballroom, heavy oak doors slamming behind him. He is back with his adoring masses, a king amongst men.

I know Uther Pendragon better. His heart is stone and granite, hard and unyielding until you stumble across a crack. One is Arthur, another is Morgana. One used to be Lady Catrina. That one has healed over now. The cracks expose his soft underbelly, the man that the used to be peering through. Grief has hardened him; life has worn away his compassion. It's a dog eat dog world, and Uther is a Pendragon. He will prevail.

He almost does not though.

"Life altering," Gaius said.

"Weird," Merlin whispered to me.

"Dreaded," Arthur confided in me.

"Just," Morgana spat, hanging up.

I go to visit him once after the incident, and Uther looks at me from pale blue eyes. He is looking but he is not seeing. He does not recognise me in my new clothes. He does not recognise my hair or my eyes or my nose. He does not recognise the man I am standing beside. He does not recognise his son. That is the saddest bit, I think. Drool dribbles down his chin, the nurse patting away the undignified moisture with a silk handkerchief. The stroke has effect him, effected us all.

Stocks of Pendragon have fallen; Arthur is working even more to keep them a float. I am working hard too, Merlin is working even harder. We are struggling to keep his empire alive, an empire founded on shaky foundations and fear. We run into a lot of problems, face huge hurdles every day. What once started out as an idealistic company has turned into a huge great monster of a co operation, cracks at every level. We are busy all day, every day.

Morgana does not help with her protests and her verbal abuse. She hinders. She wants justice. She does not realise justice does not have to be grand, does not have to mean the destruction of Pendragon. Justice can be found in the new company ethos (drafted by Merlin, approved by Arthur), fairness can be found in the company pension scheme (it is generous, in part funded by Arthur's trust fund) and most of all, integrity can be found ingrained into the walls and on the genuine smiles of our workers and customers.

Pendragon is not the same. We have turned it around.

December comes around once more. Uther does not hold this Christmas charity ball, decked with the Pendragon crest and lashings of holly. Arthur takes his place at the head of the table, his father next to him.

Uther stares at him behind glassy eyes, head resting against the leather cushion of his wheelchair, and I imagine that he is proud. He should be. His son is now a man. More of a man than Uther himself has ever been. Uther has not left behind a legacy; he has left behind a son.

And his son will be a legacy.


	5. Leon

**Leon **

Leon has a degree in business. He has student debts, bills to pay. He is overqualified for this job.

He thinks he can make invaluable contacts working for Pendragon. It is an international company with a formidable reputation. He seized the opportunity with both hands and just drove. This decision has lead him to Morgana. He does not regret it.

I get to know Leon a little better when it is just the two of us, alone in the limo. Morgana occasionally sends him to fetch me. It is hard to refuse, especially when the London public transport system is the alternative.

Leon and I exchange pleasantries, complaints about the weather. Little things like that that mean very little in the long run.

When Morgana and Arthur start arguing more frequently, we exchange quips about the news to cover the awkward silence, mostly things that involve humiliating reality TV shows. Leon does not confide in me his darkest secret; I do not divulge mine. The difference between us is that I know Leon's secret already.

He is too transparent. It is a dangerous game that he plays.

"She alright?" Leon stops me as I step out of the car. It is only mid August and his brow is creased with worry, wisps of his hair escaping his cap. Morgana has stormed out of the limo, her usual grace abandoned for fury.

Arthur surveys us silently, his mood subdued after the screaming match with Morgana. I give him a tight smile and then click the car door closed. His blue eyes disappear behind the metal of the car. He is insulated from the outside world by a thin layer of metal and paintwork.

Leon hovers, waiting for an answer. I place a hand his forearm. "Yes," I tell him.

We both know I am lying and that I will be the one the reassure her, not him. I am her best friend, he is her employee. I will sit by her side, stroke her hair, wipe away her tears. He will sit in the car, ready to drive us anywhere, subject to her every whim.

Leon remains a shadowy presence in day to day life. He is paid to serve, to not be seen. He is strong and he is silent. He is something Morgana takes for granted.

Something we all do, really.

Arthur thinks him a valued employee; but then again Arthur is beginning to value everyone more and more nowadays. He has grown, has started to flex the potential of who he can be a little bit now. He is not a boy, and not yet a man. Morgana's love has fortified his character, and her arguments have made him older.

Leon respects Arthur. He is in awe of him; I know because he scurries to do his bidding. As time passes, his scurrying becomes less hurried, more paced. Leon has changed during his time at Pendragon. His hair is now tamed, the curls slicked back under his cap, his beard more designer. Leon witnesses some of our most private moments. He is discreet and unobtrusive. For all intents and purposes, he is a brick wall; he is present but he does nothing.

The confidentiality clause in his contract forbids him to comment, but human nature means that sometimes, just sometimes he is compelled to.

He sees more than we think, knows more than we predict. He is more than a driver.

He drives me home when Lance rescues me from a particularly painful event. It's the first time I see him in months, in the flesh. One of Uther's guests is not gracious. He is a slobbering fool, a man who confuses me with Morgana. He has a problem with Uther - that I can understand - but methods are less than savoury and entirely repulsive. He uses who he thinks is Morgana to get back at Uther. He uses blackmail and threats and I am scared.

Money. It's always about money.

Not with Lance though. He is my hero of the night, the knight that shines in the dim dungeon of Uther's ballroom. He does not sink to Olaf's level; he soars above it.

We escape into the night like two almost lovers. It is almost like a forbidden romance, an illicit escapade. It is not though.

I stare at Lances profile as we wait at a bus stop. His fingers fiddle with his phone as we wait for a reply from Morgana, who has made an early exit from Uther's function and therefore Olaf's evil clutches. One of his cronies has my phone. I doubt I'll be getting it back.

Lance's cheekbones slope gracefully, and his eyelashes curve skywards. He is perfect.

I shiver, because it is cold and he shrugs off his jacket, draping it over my shoulders. I rearrange it so it covers the both of us, giving us an excuse to huddle together. I press myself closer to him, grateful he is here and he is warm. He is company and I am lonely.

I have not seen him for a long time. It feels like a lifetime.

Leon pulls up, sleek black limo a contrast to the red run down bus that Lance and I are used to. We stumble in, relishing the warmth, relishing each other's company.

Leon hands Lance an envelope silently, then turns around. "Where to?"

"Home," I say.

"Holy shit," Lance says. The envelope has a plane ticket inside. It is for tomorrow. "He said yes."

We are both stunned.

"Congratulations," I say. It is selfish, but I do not mean it. I have had him for less than twenty four hours and now I will lose him again.

Lance looks at the ticket and then at me. "It's a great opportunity, but I..."

He cannot this up for me. It is not a fair trade. I am not enough; we will end up hating each other. Such sacrifices will not end well. "You have to go."

Lance does not protest. I have made his mind up for him. "Okay," he exhales and leans back. A hollow laugh pushes past his lips. He cannot believe it. He pinches himself.

I lean my head on his shoulder. "I know. It's an amazing opportunity."

He smiles, and then seizes the day. Kissing Lance is something familiar, something I have done before. It does not set my world on fire; it ignites a spark that turns into flames that slowly lick away the ice that has formed.

We break for air, and he leans his forehead against mine.

"I love you," Lance tells me, eyes wide. They drink the sight of me in, drown in my presence and I see nothing but sincerity, of regret that things have turned out like this.

"I love you too," I tell him. I am not quite in love with him, not quite out of love with the idea of him. He cannot wait for me, cannot wait for my life to catch up with his. His world is going at rollercoaster speed; mine is stuck in merry go round circles that only deviate every so often.

He gets out the car, shrugging into his overcoat. I roll the window down and he takes my hand. "Thank you. Thank you for believing in me." Thank you for your faith when everyone had none.

His words mean more to me than the chaste kiss on the cheek does.

I will see him tomorrow, but I cannot help but feel like this is the end of something. The next time I see him he will no longer be an unknown researcher. He will be the head researcher of one of Pendragon's biggest clinical trials yet.

To me, the cost of a cure for cancer is Lance himself. He will jet off tomorrow to a Silicon Valley laboratory on a privately chartered plane, courtesy of Uther Pendragon. I cannot afford to follow him.

I roll up the window as Lance tells me he has to go pack. I fake and smile and give soft orders for Leon to please take me home.

Leon complies, and turns a blind eye to the tears that fall as he drives me silently home. He opens the door for me and I sniffle silently into my sleeve. He offers me his handkerchief.

"Thanks." My voice is weaker than I'd like, my eyes are redder than normal. I have been crying, but Leon is kind about the fact that I look a fright.

He walks me to the front door of my flat. The silence is comfortable, my sniffs punctuating our journey. I turn to smile at him, and tell him I'll give him back his hanky the next time I see him (it will be washed and nicely ironed, of course), when he surprises me. "Sometimes you have to go through bad stuff to get to the good stuff." His message is ambiguous and he leaves me on my doorstep, bidding me a goodnight.

I think about what he means when I shower, warm water washing away my tears, but not quite washing away my sadness.

I know things about Leon. He is a relatively easy man to read, few secrets, few lies. He is an open book, and yet he is a mystery. Leon does not occupy my thoughts often, his presence does not even really occur to me unless I require a lift somewhere or I'm teasing Morgana about something, rallying Leon to my side. He will not be swayed to the dark side. He always takes Morgana's.

Leon is a ship passing through the night that is my life. He has a family (I think). He has dreams, aspirations that I will never know about, simply because I am me and he is him. We share looks, we share silence, we share nothing more.

Nothing except love for Morgana.

He loves her in a different way, in a way that forever fuses his heart to hers. You do not forget your loves. Morgana loves Arthur. I love her. Arthur loves his father. Merlin loves his work.

There are many kinds of love, none more innocent than a puppy crush.

From innocence stems danger. He is loyal to a fault, enamoured with the dark haired beauty in front of him. It is a dangerous, courageous, stupid thing he does when he agrees to drive Morgana to the protest at Heathrow.

The people there are unfriendly, unwelcoming, because in their finery, Morgana and Leon do not belong there. It is not their world. They have trespassed. Morgana takes her place in the middle of the runway, smack bang in the middle, Leon beside her.

That night they are arrested, Morgana in her designer faux furs, Leon in his chauffeur's cap and neatly buttoned work suit.

Arthur is not happy, Uther less so.

September is the month that goes on record as the month that Morgana is convicted as trespassing. She makes the news, the sole photo of her sullen, ruby lips pursed. Leon looks like a fish beside her, like his eyes are about to pop out of his head. He has never seen the like.

'Heiress Hates Heathrow,' the headline reads. Morgana is against the extension plans, and she is vocal about it. Anarchist groups approve, but say they don't need her kind of publicity. They scorn her money. They think her spoilt, rebelling for the sake of rebelling. A girl without a cause. She will prove them wrong.

And Leon will help her.

Arthur is the one to bail them out; Merlin and I are there because we miss Morgana. Leon lingers by her side, brushed to one side as she squeezes Arthurs hand in thanks, as Merlin grabs her into a hug and musses her hair. I hand her hand sanitizer and a hairbrush. Prison is a dirty place. She gives me a hug.

The air is silent, the tensions between Morgana and Arthur stifling.

He is furious at her; Uther is one of the investors in this little venture. Morgana knows that and yet, she is here. She is blatant in her disregard, and worst of all, she is unrepentant. It is a smack in the face, but Arthur reigns in his anger.

We roll to a stop outside my flat, and Morgana reaches for the door straight away. "Morgana," Arthur says, and there is something in his voice. It is resignation. "Morgana, we need to talk."

Her eyes flash, and she holds his gaze, her head tilting to meet his. The defiance in her eyes gives way. It is not so long ago that she told him she loved him. In some ways, she still does. "Okay," she says.

Merlin and I excuse ourselves. The partition between Leon and Morgana discreetly rolls up, Arthur's finger on the switch.

The air outside is pleasant. The leaves are golden red under our shoes, crisp to the touch. Leon has rolled down the window and his fingers are tapping a beat in the gleaming black door of the elongated car.

"Alright mate?" Merlin asks him.

He seems a million miles away. "Yeah. You?"

Merlin's answer seems to fall on deaf ears. Eventually, Merlin says to me, "Can we go up to your place? I hear Mario Kart calling." I nod, rummaging in my bag for my keys.

"Sure, whatever you like."

We turn to head inside. Merlin pauses. "Leon, you coming man?"

"Hmmm?" Leon snaps out of his reverie.

"Mario Kart? Me, you, Gwen. You losing horribly while I run circles around your lame Luigi?"

Leon's eyes crinkle at the corners, mouth widening into a smile. His head shakes. "Can't sorry Merlin. I'm working."

"Ah. Yeah. Right." Merlin has forgotten that. "Some other time, yeah?"

"Sure," Leon is nothing if not agreeable.

We head inside.

"Oh, and Merlin?" Merlin whips around, worn brown jacket whipping around. "I'm always Mario."

Merlin laughs. It is carefree. Leon has that effect on you, putting you at ease. He is loyal and trustworthy and he is not altogether unpleasant.

It is he who joins Morgana on her quest. It is he who abides her, stands by her when she is manipulated by others. He is loyal, to the highest decree. He has made sacrifices in the name of love.

He leaves Pendragon at the end of November. Arthur moans his loss; apparently it is hard finding good staff these days.

I see him in December, strawberry blonde hair a little longer, beard a little wilder. She and he look a vision, dancing slowly to a beat only they know. I want to call them over to us, but I dare not. They are enjoying the moment, enjoying not having to deal with any of us, any of their actions. I can tell that Morgana makes him happy and that he makes her happy.

Everything else is secondary.


	6. Merlin

**Merlin.**

He's skinny and he scrawny but he's got enthusiasm. Lots of it. He's running and running and running...and then he runs into me.

"Oh God. I am so so so _so_ sorry." Folders are wide open and everywhere, pages flickering because that's what they do when it's windy. It's bitterly cold but bone dry and his fingers must be as numb as mine as we scrabble around the tarmac to retrieve our respective items.

"No, I'm sorry," I say as I look up, my eyes are blinded by a wide smile and sharp cheekbones. I smile too, because it's infectious. It's not love at first sight, but it's a little crush. It flutters in my stomach, where it settles to the pit.

His grin turns sheepish. "It's probably my fault. I'm late."

I laugh. "Tell me about it."

One by one, the folders are piled neatly, and as we both reach for the last folder, our almost frozen fingertips brush.

And a foot steps on the folder.

I didn't like Arthur the third time I meet him either.

"Merlin," he says in this Sir-Prats-a-lot voice. He's still got that red jacket, that glint in his eyes. He is the boy your mamma told you to steer clear of. Well mamma, I'm steering clear.

It doesn't work.

"I hardly think my father is paying you to destroy his possible Nobel Prize winning thesis." I do not miss the bitterness. I choose to ignore it because as far as I'm concerned, Arthur is still a twat and he doesn't have another non prattish side. I don't know him well enough to like him, but I do know him well enough to dislike him. Arthur continues his childish tormenting, Merlin quietly taking it all because Arthur is Arthur Pendragon. And Arthur knows it.

I see Merlin around campus; get a good view of his posterior as he zooms past me, arms always full of books.

He always slows to say hello and I always make time for him.

Merlin is like me. We are people who have worked hard all our lives. We are not privileged, have suffered the loss of parents. We are people with similar backgrounds, with similar natures. Unlike Arthur, we have no silver spoon, unlike Arthur we are not tied down with hefty trust funds.

I am a girl who has exceeded expectations beyond people's widest speculations. I have worked hard to get here. Arthur is a boy who struggles to meet people's high standard. He is a lot but he lacks much more. He has worked hard to get to where he is. Do not let other people fool you; everything that Arthur is does not come naturally. It comes with a lot of hard graft.

Arthur has many faults. I commend his dedication to his father, his sense of duty to protect Morgana. I frown at the way he treats Merlin, the way he treats people who he thinks are 'below' him. Arthur has not yet gotten the concept that money does not make a person superior; it just makes them better dressed.

Merlin introduces to the Pendragon world; when I get the internship, he takes me around, introduces me to others, makes sure I am settled in. He introduces me to Gaius, a man prominent in the pharmaceutical world. I have seen his pictures in the textbooks, but I have never seen him in real life. He is world famous. I am star struck.

Merlin gives me hints on how the coffee machine works ("Press the button once, then twice, very quickly, or it just eats up your money"), on which foods in the canteen are best to avoid ("Fridays are scary. No one likes fish!").

Merlin and I spend a lot of time together at the events Morgan invites us to, so she has people to talk to. Arthur and Merlin have a sort of cruel banter going on. It is the start of a twisted friendship.

Merlin often passes out at my place, too tired and too intoxicated to move after he has dropped me off. I make sure he is warm, covering him with my spare duvet. "Goodnight Merlin." I kiss his cheek good night.

My affection goes unrequited. To Merlin, I am a friend. I cannot occupy his mind; his head is full of science, full of clever things that I will never understand.

My affection for Merlin fades into just friendship. We will never be more. I'm fine with that, I have Lance.

He does not stay around for long.

We hang out together, the four of us in the pub after work. It is a regular thing, a nice end to the week, the perfect way to relax. "Well," Merlin says jokingly as Arthur joins us in the pub, the pint in his hand already half drained despite the fact that he has only been here five minutes. It has been a hard day, I can tell. "It might be alright for some doctors to indulge, but I'm banned from drinking?" Merlin cannot hold his drink; that is a well known fact. Arthur is tired of dragging his sorry, cheerful ass home for the nth time; that is another well known fact. The ban comes about.

"Arthur!" Morgana says half mortified. "You banned him from drinking? You?" She is right. Arthur bought himself 'beers of the world' last week. And the month before that, he bought himself a two hundred pound bottle of whiskey. Arthur likes his fine spirits and his high life.

Merlin thinks now is a good time to chime into the conversation. "Yes Arthur. It's not like all of us have a wine cellar. And I can hold my drink fine, thank you very much." the wine cellar belongs to Uther, but for all intents and purposes of this argument, it is Arthur who stocks it and pays for it. "You really should lay off the booze," Merlin says in retaliation to Arthurs pointed look contracting Merlin's superb ability to holding his alcohol. "You've been looking a little bit more...burdened recently."

There is a pause as Arthur narrows his eyes and Morgana and I bite our tongues to keeper from exploding with laughter.

Arthur is not used to being teased. "I am not fat!" he says outraged as Morgana and I giggle discreetly behind our hands. He turns to Morgana. "I am not fat!" he almost commands. Arthur has said he is not fat. Let it be so.

(He is not fat.)

"Babe, you're not fat." Morgana take pity on him. He just glares at her and opens a packet of crisps, munching one with over exaggerated bites, the muscle in his jaw ticking. She smothers a smile and her eyes gleam. She is in a mischievous mood. It does not bode well for Arthur. "Although," she takes a look at the packet of deep fried potato goodness, "if you keep on eating those you may very well be."

Everyone at the table cracks up laughing bar Arthur. A crisp has stopped midway to his mouth, suspended in mid air. "You...I....you...suck!" he splutters, dropping the bag of crisps in his shock.

Merlin swoops to their rescue. "Yoink!" Merlin likes crisps. They taste good.

Morgana slowly sobers up. "Really though, Merlin should be able to drink. It's not fair otherwise." Morgana is a sucker for the underdog. It's the British she inherited form her mother coming out. Arthur mumbles something under his breath. She just raises and eyebrow and slides her drink - a barely sipped 1987 whiskey, on the rocks - across the table to Merlin who claps his hands in glee. Stolen food and a free drink. Tonight is his night.

I just sit back and drink my cider, running my fingers down the glass to catch the droplets of condensation.

It is not until much later that I wish I had paid more attention, burnt everyone single detail of those times into my memory, seared the snapshots of happiness into my mind.

That is the last day we are like that. Life happens. Things change.

Even if I do not want them to.

I did not mean to kiss him back. I did not want to. There was something that compelled me, something that made me do it. It was like it was destiny, a future that was an eventuality. When we kissed, everything clicked into place.

Something like that, it can't be wrong.

But it was.

He broke the kiss first and even though I willed my eyes to open, they wouldn't. I wanted to hang onto that feeling a little longer, be that person for a little while.

And then, reality caught up.

We didn't speak for a long time after that. He doesn't mention it, and I don't mention it. We both tried to think about it, but I think we failed miserably. Merlin knew, though, because even though Merlin sometime occupied his own little world, he knew us well enough.

By October, Merlin has us both figured out. He makes the mistake of gleefully announcing this knowledge to Arthur.

"Merlin," He says menacingly. "If you tell anyone about this, I will break your leg."

Merlin smiles. He thinks Arthur is joking.

He is wrong.

By mid October, Merlin becomes increasingly absent from my life. I see him late at night, briefly at lunch. He is in the middle of new exciting research; Gaius keeps him busy and out of trouble.

It is a lie.

It's a girl. It's always a girl.

I hear of her on the grapevine. She is a mysterious beauty, a figure that lurks in the shadows, a shady outline huddled and downcast. She is the kind of girl Merlin should stay away from, Gaius thinks; he pursues his lips at the mere mention of her name. She emerges from nowhere and into his life, it seems, a girl Merlin met on the street. He thinks he can save her, he thinks he can be her hero.

Arthur thinks the reason why Merlin is so much happier recently is because Merlin has discovered a brand new compound that shows promise in being a real money spinner. It is a discovery bound to land him in the history books, right up there with Watson and Crick, right below Albert Einstein. There is plenty of time to become an Einstein – Merlin is still young – but it's a good start. Arthur does not notice that look on Merlin's face, the one that brings an extra sparkle to his eye, the one that makes his smile dazzle even more than before.

Merlin is in love.

I should know. That look is on my face too. I smile back brightly as Merlin, because I know how he feels. And despite the good moods and warm thoughts, there is something rotten leaking behind our demeanour, something that we both try to ignore.

Our joy comes at a price. For me, it is something that cannot be considered because I consider that price too high. Morgana's well being comes before my own. She is my sister. Merlin's price comes in the form of secrecy. He is no good at lying, no good at hiding that look that comes onto his face when he zones out during the boring bits of our staff meetings. It is a necessity; he cannot outwardly admit to dating a rival of Pendragon, never mind a rival who has been disgraced. She has screwed up, big time, has cost both companies and people millions of pounds, has set back research by several years. Many people out there hate her. They hate her enough to hurt her. Badly.

They do not know Merlin is aiding her emigration to get away from this all. He does not know that I know of his new love. He keeps Arthur and me a secret; I keep his.

Their love is doomed. That is a fact. Her safety comes at a great and terrible price; Merlin. He is willing to change his life for her, a girl he has only briefly known for one week. He thinks he knows her, thinks that in her he has found himself. She makes him complete. Merlin now sees what we all see; the potential in him now shines in the mirror. He will sacrifice his life for her; in some ways, he is sacrificing his life for her.

I pretend not to notice as he excuses himself from our weekly dinners early, pretend not to notice as he crosses the road to avoid me, takeaway for two swinging under one arm, occasionally an elegant red rose tucked under the other. One day, when I walk into his office unannounced, he hurriedly snaps his phone shut.

It is too late. I have already heard. He has commissioned one of the Pendragon jets. To Australia. Tomorrow. The situation has changed. He is leaving us; the price for his happiness is now us.

I do not blame him for following his heart. I am envious. I wish I were in a position to do the same.

I ask him if he wants to go for lunch. He breathes a sigh of relief. "Yeah," he smiles at me, checking his watch. He thinks I do not know; I let him think that. "Hey, why don't we make this a thing? You call Morgana and I'll crash Arthur's meeting. It's only a stockholders meeting, it's fine. How about the Red Dragon? Half an hour? Great, see you then." He rushes out the door, loosening his blue tie. He rushes back. He has forgotten something. "I love you Gwen, you know that, right?" I smile softly and tell him I know. He rushes off. He is acting like the world will end tonight.

He is right. Someone's world ends tonight.

We are having a late dinner; Arthur's meeting was more important that Merlin thought, but he rearranges a few commitments at Merlin's insistence (or well, Merlin persuades his secretary to) and voila, he is here at dinner sitting opposite me, his knees bumping gently against mine as we order special fried rice and an assortment of dishes to share. Morgana does not show up. She is not answering her phone.

Merlin savours every morsel of food, every word. It is the last day before the first day of Christmas, it turns dark outside, and for these few hours in months he ignores his watch, his phone, his laptop and he just is himself.

We have forgotten what it is like to have no secrets. That night, in that little dingy Chinese restaurant, the secrets get locked away, and we just bask in each other's company. That night, things are almost like they used to be.

Morgana is missed.

When we emerge from the restaurants, smelling faintly of greasy Chinese food, we are in a good mood. We are just walking Merlin to his flat which is just around the corner when Merlin freezes in front of us, all five foot ten of him blocking our way.

"Merlin, what are you doing? Don't tell me you've forgotten how to walk. I told you you shouldn't have had that last beer. Why don't you ever –" Arthur loses steam mid sentence. He has peered around Merlin, and he recognises her, and she him. She is every bit as beautiful as they say. Even in the dark I can make out that her hair is a magnificent mane, her cheekbones high and her lips a soft pout. Her eyes widen impossibly at the sight of Arthur, and she turns on her heel. Merlin runs after, but it is too late.

She runs out into the night and the damage is done.

Merlin is unlucky in love. He cannot be with who he wants to be. Not now, not ever. She's gone now. Dead. Ran into that road and bang. Blood creeping slowly on the floor, pooling as time ticks. Her breathing stops and he tries mouth to mouth, his breaths frantic, his actions desperate. He cannot lose her too.

I imagine the scene as described in the police reports as he thrashes about in the night, lying awake on the couch. My limbs are stiff and sleepy as the figure opposite me on the armchair stirs awake. I move about the room, my memory guiding me past the coffee table, over the pizza box and around the empty cans of beer. One hand touches the wallpaper as I tiptoe to the bedroom, flicking on the light.

The figure under the cover tosses and turns, tortured noises set loose into the night. Demons have come into play, memories haunting his dreams. Even in his sleep, she cannot be with him. But I can be.

I stay with him as the cries subside, stroking his cheek as the tears escape his dream to fall in the real world. I stay until I am sure there is nothing in his dream but blissful black.

Arthur just stands in the doorway, waiting. I don't know what for, only that we don't speak as I follow him back to the lounge. It's a tip, and I really should clean it up. I reach for an empty beer can but one hand stops me.

"It can wait." Arthur says gently.

He doesn't let go of my hand and I don't let go of his.

I trace the lines of his palm, the ones that some say can foretell his future, searing them into my brain. I wonder if the lines on his hands will interlink with mine. I do not tempt fate by checking. He just sits there. I do not look up. I dare not.

Not until he turns our palms over anyway. His hand is over mine now, warm and sure, as it envelops mine. The squeeze is supposed to offer comfort I suppose. It raises more questions than answers.

I sink into his touch. Death has brought us closer together.

It is a shame it takes a tragedy to do so.

"One day I'll be a CEO," he says into the night. It's supposed to be a promise of a better future for the both of us.

It doesn't mean a thing.

"I know." My response is resigned.

He cannot say anymore without betraying his real feelings. He has been trained to never show weakness. I am a weakness he must grow out of. Compassion is bad, and therefore logic is good. The businessman in him comes out. "My father will not understand. Maybe, one day..."

My heart falls, lands at my feet with an inaudible but very real thud. My world is not rocked, merely put firmly back in place. I am a nobody, Arthur is a Pendragon. I just nod, slowly extracting my hand from his. I gather the thin blanket and retreat to the armchair and pretend to sleep.

I do not cling to hope. Maybe is something people say when there is none. We both know that.

Merlin wakes me up the next morning, a stranger in a dressing gown and trackie bottoms rummaging in the fridge. He has bags under his eyes, remnants from the days he has feared to fall asleep. "Thanks," he tells me as I take the carton of milk from him pouring him a glass because otherwise he's going to drink from the carton and that's disgusting. I use that milk in my tea. He is in a better mood than he has been for days. He has slept better than he has for days, "thanks to you," he says taking a gulp of milk. "Where's Arthur?" His voice is still soft, still lacking that enthusiasm that is almost his trademark. He has lost faith in life, in love.

I smother the urge to kiss his cheek and gather him in my arms. "Work." It's the standard answer. Arthur has no time for life, only work. He is up to his neck in board meetings and life saving operations. He is that hospital, its breathing heart, its very core. Merlin is its brains, Uther is its face.

Naturally, Uther takes all the credit.

Merlin brings me back to earth. "It's never too late. I don't regret a thing." He has been talking while I have drifted away. I pull myself together and I listen, because that is what good friends do.

"Merlin...," my voice is laced with sympathy, comfort, anything he needs.

"It gets easier Gwen, doesn't it?"

I cannot tell him a lie. "I don't know."

He relieves the dreams even after a week; Arthur and I take in turns to stay over at his flat. In two weeks, he only speaks of the details of her death once, after a particularly bad nightmare. Arthur and I only know the details from the police report Arthur has obtained and the information I have gleaned from the nurses that treated her.

It gets better slowly. Very slowly. Everyday a little progression is made; everyday becomes a little more tolerable. It is not a betrayal; he is not moving on. It is life. Arthur is around more; his best friend's sanity is more important than paperwork. Besides, he says, "That's what personal assistants are for."

Merlin and I roll our eyes.

Everyday gets a little better, for Merlin, for Arthur and I. It will never be the same again; it cannot be. But, we are getting there slowly.

Merlin sometimes has his moments. The ones where he watches Arthur and I doing the washing up at his place - me doing the actual dirty work, Arthur drying - and he'll fade out, go misty eyed in his own world. He still thinks of her. I think he thinks of her every day.

He prods Arthur sometimes, reads more into situations when there is nothing to be read. He thinks that every glance and every word exchanged means something. When you have been in love you want to know that that love carries on somewhere, sometime. He wants hope, and we cannot give him hope.

Arthur has said it himself, his father would not approve. The words have spilled from my own lips; I cannot be your queen. They are different phrases, but they mean the same thing. It will never happen. It is not written in the stars.

It is an eventuality I do not look forward to.


	7. Gaius

**Gaius**

Gaius is Morgana's guardian. He is silent about the fact that she is dating his boss's son, tries hard to quell her urges to scream and rebel against everything Uther. He has been around for a long time; he is a walking encyclopaedia of knowledge. He is the man Morgana turns to when she asks for his advice about investments, the man she goes to in times of dire straits (mainly when she is in trouble with her accountant for indulging too much on shoes). He is Merlin's mentor, a valued employee that Arthur knows he can trust. He is a lot of things to a lot of people. It is men like Gaius that make up the backbone of Pendragon.

The first time I see Gaius, I think him a frail old man. I am proved wrong, as he thumps Merlin with a particularly heavy pharmacology textbook. "What were you thinking?" He asks Merlin as Merlin looks up from the test tubes, goggles sliding precariously down his nose.

He pushes them back up, pipette frozen in mid air. "What?"

"Benzodiazepines!" Gaius shakes his head.

I have no idea what he is talking about. Maybe he's talking French. Those French pronouns still get the better of me. (Damn them.)

"But I tried that already," Merlin protests as Gaius flips open the textbook and pointedly shows him a passage.

"That's not what it says here." Gaius must be pushing on seventy now, but his mind is one of the sharpest I will ever meet.

Merlin reads the passage, and then rereads it again. "No," he says, and it is his turn to shake his head. "That's wrong. I know it's wrong." He then says a bunch of stuff I don't understand. I don't think I will ever understand. I'm not sure I want to. It sounds hard. It sounds like it will hurt your brain, just trying to pick apart the sentence and make it make sense. He flicks to the next page. "Gaius, this is a textbook full of wrong," he says before he launches into the papers that disprove this particular theory.

My head hurts.

"Oh! I forgot! Sorry Gwen." Merlin jerks out of his science induced rapture with a thump of his head. "Gaius, this is Gwen. Gwen this is Gaius. Gaius is Uther's right hand man." He turns to Gaius, "Gwen's an engineer. She's here on an internship."

I smile and wave hello shyly. Gaius nods. "So Gwen," he says. "How are you finding Pendragon?"

Scary. Big. Very shiny. "Great!" I say, perching on a bench stool as Gaius and Merlin move fluidly about the lab.

"Good." Gaius slides on his goggles, lighting the Bunsen.

"Yes!" Merlin does a little jig, dancing in a circle as...something good happens. He busily scribbles down a few figures, punches in a few letters on the keyboard.

"Merlin!" Gaius scolds as he leans over the sink. "Did I or did I not tell you to clean out the sink?"

I can tell by the look on Merlin's face that this is a routine they have been through a thousand times before. He sighs loudly, trudging to the skink. "Yes sir."

I settle into work with Merlin's help. Even as I sit in the cafeteria alone (Merlin has work to do, and I have not yet made friends), I feel like I have finally made it. My position is not a product of just hard work; a lot of luck is involved. This is my big break, my chance for a better life. Everything else will fall into place. I won't have to count the pennies any longer, won't have to carefully budget food and shop for clothes in the sales.

Morgana has helped me get here. I know I am lucky. People would kill to be here right now, making coffee for some of the most influential brains in the pharmaceutical business. Morgana sits regally by Uther's side. He says it is good for her to learn the way in which business works, firsthand. I think he wants people to see how much power he has. Morgana is a popular socialite. They may not know her by name, but they know her face. She has graced many an upper circle newsletter.

Working for Pendragon is an experience unlike any other. We are well protected in this little kingdom; security is at an all time high. There are people out there who oppose our work, who do not see the bigger picture beyond the lab rats and medical testing. There are people out there who would kill to get their hand on research papers, on things conducted in this very here land. The world is dangerous, but inside the walls of Pendragon, we are safe.

Morgana despises this world; she is too curious, too brave. She dreams of possibilities she never confides in any of us, longs for a life she cannot have. That longing turns into anger, and that anger drives her forward.

Morgana's anger is an accumulation of anger at life, at the unfairness of it all. No young girl should have to go through the horror of teenage years with no parents; no girl should have all that she has ever known taken away from her. To here, home is a place that exists only in the distant past, the only place she will ever be happy. She seeks something, but does not know what. She thinks in seeking justice she will find herself. She is right, and she is wrong.

She does not realise how lucky she is. Money is not a curse, it is a blessing. She can use it for the greater good; can use her standing and her reputation as leverage. Instead, she throws it all away, in the name of independence, in the name of fairness. To Morgana, something needs to set her free. She does not realise that it is only she who wields the power to do that.

When Morgana turns twenty three, she is entitled to her trust fund. Her birthday makes Gaius recall times when she was young, when her parents were still alive. She listens to his stories with wide, glassy eyes, with a hole in her heart and she later recounts the stories to me, hair fanned out on her silk encased pillows, tucked under the quilted duvet. They are her fairy tales, the stories that give her good dreams. They take her back to the past, to a time she considers better. I secretly think that her present is not so bad; she disagrees.

She turns to Gaius for advice; something which we all do. He has been around so long; he is something we take for granted.

When Gaius is on the firing line, we realise that is he is not immune, none of us are. It lights a fire. Uther's tyrannous reign cannot last forever.

It just lasts for a bit longer.

Gaius seems frail as he hears the rumours, his back hunched over old papers that have made his name. Morgana is scared for him, scared what he will do. Pendragon is his life.

She hovers, hesitates. Her anger simmers, and as Uther relents and Gaius keeps his job, the flame is temporarily extinguished.

Until she meets Mordred.

Mordered is a young prodigy. He is a small, scrawny boy but he is bright. He holds Morgana's affections like a sword, manipulating her to bend to his will. Morgana is enamoured by this boy. She thinks him sweet; she sees no evil. They share a special relationship; he is like the younger brother she has always longed for. She feels like he needs her. In him, she has found a place where she belongs, where she can be accepted for who she truly is. With him, her walls fall away.

He tells her money is wicked, and the way in which Pendragon have obtained it, the ultimate offense against human life and dignity.

Her words become his, and I have to pretend not to see the change in her. It is the only way to cling onto her a little while longer.

I read of their partnership in the paper, Alvarr, their mentor and head honcho (nacho, Merlin calls him. Gaius calls him poncho.) He is a threat to Pendragon, a threat to the world in general. Alvarr is a man on a mission, a man full of hate.

Gaius says nothing, but his eyes become troubled as he reports his findings to Uther at the staff meeting. Uther chooses to move swiftly on, reluctant to discuss Morgana's faults in front of the court. He does not comment on his disappointment at her behaviour, does not question why she hates him so. He just ignores it. Uther is oblivious to many things, I think, but he cannot be that oblivious. He shows no weakness, no chink in his chainmail. He keeps his cards close to his chest.

Arthur keeps his thoughts to himself. He does not contradict Morgana. He does not contradict his father. He just changes the subject. I have never seen him so serious, so diplomatic.

Merlin mutters under his breath as he reads the news, sees her image splashed across the pages. He hides the articles from Arthur, but I know Arthur sees them. He reads the articles online, scrolls hastily through them on his Blackberry. The articles are his only link to Morgana, and even if they are bad for Pendragon, at least he knows she is still somewhat safe. It is hard to stop caring about her.

When Morgana leaves, I do not see Gaius often; he decides to semi retire. He is too old for this, he says.

Morgana has aged him.

I know this because she has aged me too. We feel her loss keenly. Nothing is so ageing as the sadness of loss.

Gaius pops his head in, sometimes, when I work late, asks if I would like a cup of tea. I wave at him when I see him, occasionally share polite conversation.

"Merlin," Arthur says as Merlin slides into the seat opposite me. "How's that new intern working out?"

Merlin takes a sip of his drink, moving his hand in a see-saw motion. So-so.

Gaius' shoes are tough to fill. I am glad I am not that intern.

"How's Gaius?" I ask, as Arthur reaches under the table, his fingers brushing mine.

I jump a little but then I recover, linking my fingers with his. Our touch is tentative, an experiment.

It does not fail.

Merlin gives us a little smile, that sad, faraway look in his eyes as little pulse of electricity run up and down my spine.

Arthur clears his throat, but his fingers do not part from mine.

"Gaius is well. Enjoying the extra time he can now spend on golf. Father joins him often."

We all roll our eyes. Golf and the elderly. It's an obsession. A compulsion. An addiction.

"Golf?" Merlin wrinkles his nose. "He told me he was catching up on some reading."

Arthur lets out a booming laugh. His eyes sparkle, and his whole body shakes. He is happy. I long to freeze time and just stare at him, like this, forever. "If reading means putting, then sure, he's enriching his mind."

"Arthur!" I giggle. "At least he's getting some exercise."

"Yeah, crazy exercise." Merlin snorts into his sandwich. "Does golf even count as exercise?"

Arthur answers him, and they both laugh loudly. The compulsion comes again. I burn to pause everything, to freeze this moment. I memorise the feel of Arthur's fingers entangled with mine, the lines that form around his eyes when he laughs, the curve of his lips. I commit the way Merlin throws his head back as he laughs, the sound a rich throaty chuckle, swirling in the air with Arthur's hearty booms. The moment is reminiscent of a time that existed before. We are here, but we are not complete.

Gaius misses her too. I can tell by the way he stops by Arthur's office, when I am there to deliver a quick message, or enquire when he will take his lunch so Merlin and I can join him too. Gaius enquires about everything, from Arthur's health to the weather, to if he saw the cricket match last night. He asks about anything but Morgana, because like all of us, he is secretly afraid of the answer. Arthur understands; we all do.

Arthur drops hints in the conversation about her, leaves little clippings of articles around so Gaius can peruse them at will. Gaius is wise; he gets the hints.

I cannot help but feel sad for him as he shuffles out the office, excusing himself, apologising for interrupting our conversation. Both Arthur and I tell him the truth each time; it is no trouble.

Gaius looks at the two of us like there is something we do not know; I see sadness and something else I cannot detect. There is a small smile on his lips, something that makes me feel guilty, though that is not his intention.

Every time Gaius sees Arthur and me together, I avoid Arthur for the rest of the day.

The memory of Morgana lives on.

Sometimes, I long to ask Gaius about Morgana; if he has heard from her, if she would mind us. 'Us' is a topic that bring butterflies to my stomach, a topic that is on the tip of my tongue. It is a topic that is forbidden. It is too soon; too wrong, too inconceivable to ever happen.

Merlin hears little bits about Morgana from Arthur, whose sources of information spread far and wide. He overhears some of Gaius' conversations, steals little glances as Gaius entertains mysterious visitors in the coffee show around the corner. He feeds me these little nuggets, from both sources, because he knows I only want to know she is okay. Every little thing I hear brings her further away from me. This is not the Morgana I know, the actions are of a person I am not familiar with. But, I know that somewhere is still the girl I love. I cannot give up on her. My heart will not let me.

The trees are bare, leaves long gone. It is bitterly cold, teeth chattering so, because it is winter. As Merlin loses his first love, Gaius says nothing, just offers a comforting presence. There is something soothing about him, something that comes with age. I cannot imagine him young, and yet, logic dictates that at one point, he was.

Gaius says nothing as I gravitate naturally towards Arthur. As each day passes, I float closer and closer. I cannot resist it; I cannot help myself. He makes me weak, but I cannot hate him for it. I cannot even bring myself to dislike him.

Arthur is not who he used to be; even Merlin agrees. Gaius approves, he says so when Arthur fills in for Uther after the stroke.

The stroke is something that comes as a shock to all of us. Uther is no longer the man he was, and Gaius has known him for years. Almost overnight, their roles are reversed; Arthur is the man, and Uther is the boy. The change is 'life altering,' as Gaius says.

It is not the only thing that changes.

When he attends our party, Gaius congratulates us on our engagement, shakes Arthur's hand and kisses my cheek. I detect no resentment; this was not the way things are supposed to be. Morgana was supposed to be in my shoes, in this dress, wearing Arthur's mother's ring. She is the one who was supposed to stand here and look pretty, hear the same words of felicitations over and over again. Gaius smiles like he means it, claps Arthur on the back and jokingly warns him about the downsides of married life.

He pulls Arthur in the corner, on the pretence of business, whispering into his ear. He does so to spare my feelings, but I know already. She is here. I knew the second I stepped into the room. I can feel it in my bones; I can feel her mere presence make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It is the reason why I sent the invitation.

Arthur frowns as he listens carefully; he does not know I sent the invitation. No one knows but me.

"So," Merlin interrupts my thoughts, drags my attention away from the two men. "Mrs Pendragon. Weird." He tilts his head. "Remember when you thought Arthur was a prat?" He smiles, and I force a little laugh to show I am listening. "Don't worry, there's plenty of time. I hear Timbuktu is nice this time of year."

I laugh, for real this time. "God, that was ages ago. It feels like a lifetime."

Merlin smiles. "Yeah. It does." He is recapping the events of this past year in his head, I can tell as his glaze over and that looks comes into his eyes. This year will only ever mean one thing to him, and that will only ever be what he has lost. Merlin is a man who does not deserve bad things. It is unfair that in this year, I have found love and he has lost love. He is worthy, and I am not.

His time will come. I am sure of it.

Arthur curves his arm around my waist, and I lean into him, taking in his presence.

It is then that time slows, and the crowd parts.

I knew she would be here. She is the other half of my heart, the half that Arthur does not and can never possess. Morgana is my sister; she will forever be, no matter what she does, I will always love her. Love is patient, and it is kind and it knows no bounds.

"I'm sorry," Gaius says quietly into my ear. He does not want to draw attention to the fact that Morgana, Pendragon enemy number one is in the room. "I didn't know she was going to be here." He quickly asses the situation; his body may be ageing, but his mind dances circles lithely around us.

I assure him that he has done no wrong; no one has. "She is always welcome." More than welcome. Morgana will always be more than welcome.

Arthur has not heard our conversation; he has been discussing business with Merlin. He spies my drink. "You want a refill?"

I hold the glass out to him, and our fingertips brush as he takes the stem delicately from me. His hands are large, and in comparison, mine feel delicate and small. He leaves a lingering kiss in my lips, an action that makes Merlin mutter something about saving it for the honeymoon and closed doors.

I blush.

Gaius chuckles.

My mind turns back to Morgana, and I search vainly for her in the room. I see Gaius is doing the same, albeit a lot more discreetly.

Gaius and I have never has reason to be particularly close, to be particularly well acquainted. I know he has not seen her in what feels like a lifetime; I have not seen her in longer. His eyes glisten as we both watch her dance, her smile buried in the crook of Leon's neck, her nose tucked into his wild strawberry curls. We are bound to her by love, sealed to her by duty.

It is a fact of life that will never change.


	8. Arthur I

**Arthur.**

I cannot hate Arthur the fourth time I meet him, Morgana introducing us shyly. I have heard many things about him from her, of course, and it is all complimentary. They are in lust – that is a given, for two beautiful people – and they are well matched in terms of inheritance.

I cannot hate a boy who brings so much joy to the girl who means more to me day by day. I cannot hate the boy that presents Morgana with a token of his affections, a bouquet of lilies speckled with dots of yellow and orange. I cannot hate Arthur, but I can dislike him. He is the same boy who is quick to judge, the same boy who is spoilt and unruly.

When our gazes meet, his eyes do not widen, and my surprise is not mirrored in his face. "Gwenivere," he says smoothly, like he does not know me. "Nice to meet you." I do not correct him; I like people to call me Gwen. Gwenivere sounds too pretentious, too large a name for little old me. But the way he rolls the 'r' makes it sound more exotic, more like the girl I wish I could be. It is sinful that a boy who is so cruel should have a voice that sends shivers down my spine.

I give him a ghost of a smile and bow my head a little, tucking my hair behind my ear and then looking away. "Nice to meet you too." I do the right thing; I lie.

He takes Morgana's arm, leading her into the restaurant like a gentleman into the restaurant, where he holds the door open for both of us. He does not remember the night that sets my cheeks on fire.

I put aside the memory because Morgana is so happy; she giggles as Arthur tells us an amusing anecdote from the hospital, touches his arm fondly as he gets up to pay the bill. It is little things like that that tell me she is on her way to love.

"So hot," she mouths across the table from me. I just smile, watching him from across the room as he takes a call on his mobile, handing over a matte black card to a waiter, pointing in the direction of our table.

He comes back, apologies falling out his mouth. He kisses her goodbye and heads towards the exit. Morgana pouts and he looks regretful, longing glances thrown over his shoulder as we stay for coffee and he leaves for work.

I see him a few more times after that, mainly at functions or when Morgana and I are hanging out in his father's ridiculously large town house.

Arthur does not notice me. I am another person his girlfriend has charmed, another hazy face on his already too long contact list. We are classified as acquaintances, a friend of a friend. Our relationship is neutral and unassuming.

It is how things should be.

And then one day, things change.

Morgana is busy with charity work and shopping, and apparently, Arthur is a drama queen. "You know he's just got a cold; he's not dying. Ignore what he says and read between the lines. 'On my death bed' translates to 'I have sniffles'. Big baby."

"He's really sick," Merlin tells me. "I wouldn't step foot in that flat unless you paid me. He's such a pain, demanding this and that. And he says he's dying. As if!"

I take pity on Arthur and turn up on his doorstep, armed with cold medicine and the ingredients for chicken soup.

"Ah, Gwenivere." Arthur sniffles into the intercom. He sneezes and lets me in. "Gaius was just here. You just missed him."

I smile. "Morgana sent me. She's sorry she couldn't come."

Arthur just shuffles back to his bedroom. "Not as sorry as her accountant is, I'll bet she's snapping up the new fashions in Paris."

I don't say anything in reply, I just busy myself with making soup.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asks over my shoulder.

"Making soup."

He eyes the chicken I pull out of the bag. "Chicken soup."

I smile. "Got in one. Why don't you go and get some rest and I'll wake you up when it's done?"

He smiles brightly, then tries to cough up a lung. "Sure. Thanks."

He is like an angel when he sleeps. He is pallid and red nosed, but it is like he cannot belong on this mortal plane. He is too angular, too peaceful to inhibit a world rife with unfairness.

I stroke his hair, say words I dare not when he is awake. "You're not going to die Arthur," I say, a smile on my face. It fades and I continue, "You will be a great man Arthur. I know it. One day, you're going to be CEO and you have to promise me something, okay? Promise me you're not going to be your father. Promise me that the Pendragon I imagine - a fair and just one, one I will be proud to be a part of - will come. I will hold you to that promise."

Arthur stirs. That's how I know he is alright.

That is the beginning. It is not the end.

On another day, Merlin cannot make lunch, because he is on the cusp of some preliminary results and he is eager to analyse them. It is fascinating work, apparently. Even Gaius has forgone a round of golf to be present.

Arthur claims that he has had enough of facts and figures for the day and Merlin will just give him a summary later (that is a command, not a request). I, too, cannot stomach too many chemicals and compounds being thrown around, not after an intense morning of working out a risk management strategy for the new machines being installed.

It is just us for lunch. It is nice. Apparently. "It'll give my two favourite people a chance to really get to know each other!" Morgana says, before a new email message pops up on my computer screen. "I've got an appointment then, so can't make it, sorry sweetie, but you know my nail beds right now really suck." She takes a breath. "Oh and I'd love you forever if you mentioned that link I just sent you to Arthur. I've got shoes that go perfectly with that dress, and Arthur owes me. It's a beautiful dress. I was thinking of wearing it this weekend for that function on Saturday."

"Oh?" I say.

"Yeah. He called me spoilt last night in bed." Morgana exhales, clearly put out by her beloved. "And he hasn't apologised yet." I imagine her pouting, signature ruby lips pressed into an 'o'. "I said sorry last time; it's his turn."

I hear Leon in the background, announcing their successful arrival at their intended destination. Wherever that is (his voice is muffled). "Oh sweetie, have to go, love you."

I tell her I love her too and she hangs up.

"Morgana can't make it then?" Arthur asks me as he plops down across from me, sandwich and a cup of coffee in hand.

"Nah. Manicure calls."

We share a knowing grin.

I open the email, clicking the link and swivelling the laptop screen to face Arthur. "I've got a message for you; this dress is your apology. She's hoping to wear it to that function a Saturday so anytime before then would be great."

Arthur takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully as he mulls over the dress taking a mental note of the website, not even batting an eyelash at the extortionate price. "Right. Okay," he says between chews. "Jesus, that's an ugly dress."

I laugh, turning the laptop around to face me again. "It's the fashion. Eighties shoulder pads are very in this season."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "She'd look better without it," he grumbles.

I raise an eyebrow. "As much as you'd like your girlfriend to turn up to functions stark raving naked, I'm sure the other guess wouldn't appreciate it."

He laughs, throwing his head back, like it is the first joke he has ever heard. "Merlin might."

I hide my smile behind a sip of water. I fail miserably. "Merlin likes a lot of things."

Arthur gives me a smile, even though it is a redundant thing to say. I have verbal diarrhoea issues; I speak without thinking. But he smiles at me like I am amusing and almost good company. He smiles like he wants to be here, and not just by default.

"How's your internship going?" Small talk. We have never been in this position before; it has never been the two of us, alone. There is no Morgana, no Merlin to buffer our conversation.

"Great!" I beam, words spilling out, waxing lyrical about the equipment and resources available to a company like Pendragon, how lucky I am, how lucky he is, how lucky we are.

He sits back, a small curve gracing his lips. He seems genuinely interested in my opinions. Of course he is interested in my opinions, I think suddenly, my words slowing to a halt. I am a valued employee. He is used to comments like this, used to sitting through people talking about things he finds mundane. Shame washes over me. I'm boring. That fact has never hit home quite as hard.

"Sorry." I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ears. "I talk too much, I know."

He leans forward. "Don't be, you're interesting." In a special way. "It's interesting," he amends. In a special way.

I read between the lines. Few people say what they mean; Arthur who has grown up in a world of schmoozing and insincere words knows that as well as I do.

"Then what about you?" I challenge. "You know what makes me tick. What makes you tick, Arthur Pendragon? What makes you tick besides Pendragon and saving the world? You can't be all work and no play; I've heard what goes on inside your bedroom."

Arthur laughs, a deep rumbling erupting from his chest. My world suddenly becomes that little bit warmer. "You never cease to surprise me," he says, hand reaching forward to fiddle with his sandwich box. "Just when I think I've got you figured out, you go and say something like that."

I blush. "Sorry." Morgana has a big mouth. She tells me about her sex life. It is too much information. Much too much information. "Verbal diarrhoea. Yeah."

There is a pause, but it is not as awkward as some I have had. It is as comfortable as it can be between two almost strangers.

It is nice.

With Merlin caught up in the fascinating world that is research and Morgana becoming more and more involved with her fundraising, it becomes just the two of us for lunch more and more often.

Morgana and Arthur rant to me and Merlin. Morgana moans that Arthur is still a child, still irresponsible. It is true. Merlin moans Arthur moans too much. I am not surprised. Arthur moans Morgana is spoilt.

It is true.

Morgana is spoilt, but it is in a good way. She is the epitome of a philanthropist; a person who will spend money like water whether it be on a good cause, or on good shoes. She is a benefactor of many good causes, a person who is compassionate. She, unlike Uther, cares.

I think Morgana is a good influence in Arthur. She is a female figure in his life that reins him in, keeps him from becoming too much like Uther.

He takes things for granted, acts in a way that speaks volumes about who he is and where he comes from. His behaviour is no longer intolerable, it is only occasionally grating.

I tell him off for not cleaning up after himself in the company canteen. It is unfair to the kitchen staff. Besides, there are signs everywhere telling you to pick up after yourself. "Don't be ridiculous Gwenivere," he says. "That's what other people are paid for." I stiffen, and he digs himself a deeper hole. "I don't ask you to work out company profits do I?"

"You ask for a lot," I bite out, sweeping the remnants of his sandwich packaging onto my tray, dumping it into the bin. Arthur has an uncanny ability to fool people into tolerating him and then making them feel so utterly stupid for feeling that way. First impressions are important, and with Arthur, they are not wrong. Leopards do not change their spots, and pricks like Arthur does not change overnight.

"Gwen, you didn't have to do that; I already told you the staff here do that kind of thing," he says as I hurry away from him. I try and hide my scorn. "What? What did I say?"

I can hear Merlin shaking his head beside Arthur.

Sometimes, Arthur has no idea. The difference between us has never been clearer.

He corners me as I am in a staff talk regarding the new protocol for systems validation. "Hi, everyone. Glad to see you're all doing your...engineering thing." He clears his throat uncomfortably, as mouths unhinge at the very presence of Arthur Pendragon – the Arthur Pendragon – in this very room. He cranes his neck around the room and I sink lower in my seat. I do not know this man.

"Ah, Gwenivere, just the person I was looking for. Could I just talk to you, about a very important matter?"

Heads practically dislocate to swivel round and stare gapingly at me. I unfold myself in my seat. "Sure." I have no choice. He is Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Pendragon. Hear him roar.

I follow him outside the door, wondering what has happened. The second he clicks the door behind us, plaster and brick separating us between the buzzing of engineers in meeting room twenty three and utter silence in the hallway, I blurt it out. "Is it Morgana? Is she okay? Is it Merlin, is he okay?"

Arthur regards me with a small smile. "No. It's neither of them. Nothing like that." He straightens up, hands petulantly on his hips. He looks about five. I imagine that this is what his son will look like. It is a sweet thought.

He comes out with it, eager to know. "Why d'you leave at lunch?"

Oh. It's not Morgana or Merlin, it's that. "It's nothing. It's fine." I offer him a smile, trying to get off the topic quickly. He does not need to know what I really think; he is my boss.

"Gwenivere," he starts to say but I am already down the hall, trying to escape to a place he cannot follow me; the ladies room. "Gwenivere!"

I slow down and turn. "Yes Dr Pendragon?"

Arthur rolls his eyes at the formal address, but says nothing, takes large strides towards me instead. "I am sorry for whatever it is I have said that has offended you. I did not mean to." It is the worst apology I have ever heard, but it is an apology and Arthur Pendragon is not used to apologising. It is a step in the right direction.

So, I give him a smile and all is forgiven.

I am not the kind to hold grudges.

He is confusing. Arthur is a person who is still growing, as far as I am concerned. He is a child on the brink of adulthood. I am privy to moments, fleeting glimpses, of the majestic man he could be and the petulant child he still is. I hold out hope, because I am the kind that is hopeful.

Disaster strikes in August, and the world is in turmoil. Uther Pendragon has always been ruthless, uncompromising; in the face of travesty he is more so. We do not believe such heartlessness possible, until he lays off lots of people. Redundancy is a word no one likes, especially not during times when the prices of everything are soaring.

Uther does not listen to reason. He does not compromise or show remorse. He just releases statements to the press and remains in his security laden town house, shielded from life. Uther Pendragon is a man so far removed from what it is like to be normal; he has forgotten how to be human.

When he is about to lay off the second lot of people - all in the name of maintaining his profits - Morgana and I step in. I have been quiet until this point, but people's lives are at stake. I will not stand helplessly at the side and see people who have done no wrong suffer.

Merlin is on our side; Gaius is in the firing line.

Overnight, the three of us become vigilantes, against the evil that is Uther. Arthur does not speak out against his father; not directly anyway. He shows mercy, delaying Uther's orders to cut whoever is deemed not necessary. His compassion comes as a surprise. I see him in his office, weighed down by paperwork, but his mind is a million miles away. His fingers drum holes into the mahogany, his foot taps beats into the plush carpet.

So I knock on his office door, and I say thank you on the behalf of those people who will never know what he has sacrificed for them. Or how he feels right now.

I tap lightly, poking my head in. "Busy?" He is not busy. His secretary told me so.

"Gwenivere!" He does a double take, before his memory drifts to this morning. I have lost him to a world where he wallows in self pity.

I place a hand on his arm, offering him comfort. "Thank you. For trying. I saw what you did today," I say to his confused face. "Those people you told you were going to ask your father to reconsider – they owe you."

"Don't be grateful. I failed, didn't I?" He is bitter, a man who has been asked to commit an act that goes against what he believes, against the core of what he is made of. Arthur is stuck between a rock and a very hard place.

"It doesn't matter. Everyone knows you tried, and that is all that matters." It is the effort that counts. The lie is half true.

Arthur looks pensive, his eyes are stormy. He is re-evaluating what he knows, what he thinks he knows. "Maybe he's right. One day I'm going to be CEO. I cannot sympathise and be a businessman. It doesn't work like that." He thinks that business is all about hard decisions; he is only seeing the world through Uther's eyes, and not the other side.

"You know that's not true. You've a kind heart Arthur. That is not a weakness. Don't change, not for anyone." My words come out stilted, nothing like the eloquent Morgana or wordy Uther. My words are weak, but the message that lies beneath is strong.

Arthur just looks at me from across the desk. He is trying to see what I see, but he cannot. Arthur has been many things. He is no longer self important. He is doubting himself, but it is okay. I have enough belief in him for the both of us. "We'll be fine Arthur."

He frowns as he picks up his vibrating pager on the desk. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I have faith in you. We all do." It is the truth.

Arthur grows in that month. I no longer see that petulant child in him, I see a man ten times worthy of filling Uther's shoes. He is someone who will lead Pendragon to a brighter future. It is a future I look forward to.

Morgana also works hard that month. They are quite the power couple, typing away on their laptops, frantically clicking away on their Blackberries. Morgana becomes more and more absent; Arthur spends more and more time at work.

Merlin spends all his time aiding Arthur. Pendragon is his future too.

Everyone is growing, changing. It is just I who is left behind.

The change in Morgana is clear. She spends her time campaigning, and her mind is always occupied. There are things she does not want me to know, things that she does not want Arthur to know. He knows when she is lying, but he does not know the real reason why. Arthur is like his father; when it comes to Morgana, he turns a blind eye. They think it their duty to protect her. She thinks it is her duty to destroy them.

I wait for a happy ending, where Morgana and Arthur are free of their unwanted obligations, are free of the ridiculous expectations placed upon their heads, expectations that do not confer with who they are and what they really want.

It is not a betrayal for me to wish them apart. They are happier apart. Even Merlin agrees, following Arthur who excuses himself stiffly to go back to work, half of Morgana's scalding mocha latte dripping from his silk tie, making his shirt stick to his skin.

Morgana feels like Arthur ties her down to a destiny she does not want. She feels trapped in the relationship, confined by her loyalty to Gaius, stifled by Uther's paternal feelings towards her. She and Arthur have little arguments as first, over insignificant things that escalate into days of sullen looks and slamming doors.

When Merlin gets sent away on a business trip, to some convention or another, he arranges a stint for me to become Arthur's assistant. It is an opportunity too great to refuse, an honour even. Merlin trusts me to take his place.

The truth is that there is no other alternative. Those that are qualified are untrustworthy, in Merlin's eyes; none of them will last the week. Arthur is a tyrant. But, unlike the potential assistants, I know Arthur is not unreasonable. Merlin thinks that stands me in better stead than other potential people.

Arthur does not think I am up to scratch. I do not blame him. I am inexperienced, but I try. He is demanding, sometimes unreasonably so. Like his father, he keeps work and life very separate; I am not his girlfriends' friend, I am his assistant. I grit my teeth and bear it, mainly because of the bonus I will be getting as a result of this moonlighting.

By the end of the week, I am tired, and I am overworked. "Why don't you get yourself a coffee Gwenivere, you're dead on your feet." Arthur takes the coffee out of my hand, sipping it as he looks over the reports for last month.

Word spill out of my mouth before my brain can filter them. "I did. You're drinking it."

There is silence as Arthur looks up, holding the aforementioned coffee. "Why didn't you say something?"

The words stumble out of their own accord. Everything I have felt this past week unfurls itself and launches itself from the tip of my tongue. "How could I? You're Arthur Pendragon." He just stares at me, and I plough on. It is like a weight has been lifted, like for once, the differences between us have fallen away. It is almost like we are equals, like I am just a girl and he is just a boy. It has not been like that since we first met. "Besides, you didn't give me the chance; you just assumed the coffee was yours."

The outburst is an overreaction, but Arthur and I both realise that this goes beyond the coffee. it is not even about the coffee; it is about him, his behaviour.

He is ashamed, I know, because he looks away. "Well how am I supposed to know if you don't tell me?"

"You shouldn't need to be told to think of someone other than yourself, you're not a child." My honesty is brutal, but it is needed. I do not think anyone bar Morgana has the guts to speak to Arthur this frankly. My hearts hammers, awaiting his retaliation. You do not speak to a Pendragon like this. It is out of order, I am overstepping my boundaries. It is dangerous ground to tread.

Arthur's lips press together into a thin line. "Is there anything else you'd like to say to me?" I look away. "Please, I'd like to hear it. If there's something you want to say to me, don't let me stop you."

He stares me down, daring me to speak. I will not be intimidated. I square my shoulders, and I continue. He is just a boy. I can speak my mind. "You don't have any idea, do you?"

"About what?"

The truth sets itself free from my mouth. "About how rude and arrogant you can be!" I cannot stop, not now that I have gotten this far. "I am trying my hardest. I know you are more accustomed to more efficient assistants, assistants that have come with years of experiences, but I am trying and that should count for something. You behave like a prince and expect me to wait on you like a servant! Would it even kill you to say 'please' and 'thank you' once in awhile?" I pause to take a breath and realise exactly who it is I am talking to. "Dr Pendragon."

"Is there anything else you'd like to add?" Arthur enquires his voice gravelly.

"No, I think that's it." I mumble to my feet.

There is silence once again. It stifles the air in the office, makes it hard to breathe. I dare not look up.

He finally clears his throat. "You're right. You're doing me a favour, and I have behaved appallingly."

I look up, surprise gracing my face. He is clearly remorseful. I feel bad. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad," I say looking remorseful too.

Arthur smirks, all traces of guilt gone. "Oh really?"

I can't help it. I smile a little too. "Well, perhaps a little," I admit shyly.

He is serious once again. He is ashamed for his behaviour; I have shamed him. "There's no excuse. I'll make it up to you. Tonight, I will make dinner for you." My mouth flaps open and closed at this bewildering turn of events. Arthur pushes me gently towards the door. "Take the rest of the day off. I've heard I can be rude and arrogant. You deserve a break." His words are not a jab, they are a tease. He flashes me a lopsided grin.

I don't return it because I am still in shock. "You're going to cook me dinner?"

"I most certainly am. Now, go for a walk and do whatever it is girls' do at this time of the evening." He pulls on his jacket, simultaneously compiling a stack of papers for him to look over at home.

"That will be nice." I say in a faraway voice. I am not sure Arthur knows how to cook dinner, and I'm not sure if burnt toast counts.

Arthur closes the door. "I'll see you at my flat, around eightish? Dinner will be ready by then."

How can I refuse a chance to see Arthur Pendragon cooking?

When I arrive, Arthur looks a little flustered but still as dashing as usual. "Guinevere . . . perfect timing."

I smile a little at his lie, accepting the glass of wine he offers, let him take my coat and lead me to the kitchen. His penthouse apartment is lavish, gleaming even. The kitchen is a mess, but that is a given. Arthur's forte is not housekeeping.

He pulls out the seat for me. It is nice to know that chivalry is not yet dead. "Thank you."

Dinner is delicious, almost as good as the posh restaurant down the road, and the conversation is entertaining. I will this night to drag on, for more people to join us to witness what kind of a person Arthur can be. He is more relaxed, more endearing, more like what a CEO of Pendragon should be.

The nigth is reminiscent of when we first met. It is like in each other's company, we are transported a million miles away to a place that only we know of. We inhabit a different sphere, a different plane, where time ceases to exist, where nothing else matters except this night and each other.

"So . . . do I have any more annoying habits Morgana has told you about?"

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. "No, none."

I am a bad liar, and Arthur can read people well. "There's something else isn't there? What is it?"

I shake my head, but he coaxes it out of me. "Well, the truth is, you snore."

He doesn't take the news like a man. "I do not snore!"

His denial is side splitting. "You do. First night Morgana stayed over at yours, she phoned me up just so she'd have a witness. I thought a pig had got into your house."

Arthur splutters a little, putting his wine glass down with a little more force than necessary. "So, now I'm a pig. Thank you Guinevere."

I backtrack. "I just meant you sound like a pig." Whoops.

Arthur's reaction is priceless. I giggle and bit my lip. The wine is getting to me, I think. "I think I better stop talking."

I get up to collect the plates, because Arthur has done the cooking and therefore it's only fair that I do the washing up, but Arthur stops me. "I'll do that." He takes the plate from me, setting it down on the counter, moving back towards the table.

Our arms brush and the tingles start. "Thank you, for tonight," I say my eyes lidded and my voice hushed.

"You're welcome." He is hovering above, close enough to reach out and touch. He is looking at me like he has never seen me before, like I am his world. He is looking at me in a way I want to be look at.

His lips press against mine, sealing our fate. It is not something wrong to do. Something that sets my heart racing like this cannot be wrong, cannot harm anyone. He pulls me closer and we leave the world behind. We are no longer on an alternate plane, we are soaring, floating. We are doing something miraculous, something profound.

My future flashes behind my eyelids. I see children, and happiness and Arthur. It is a fate that I cannot have, but a fate I wish for.

He pulls away, and I see the guilt that lies in his eyes. We have committed the ultimate sin, have kissed a Judas kiss, have betrayed a girl we love and swore to forever protect. She does not know, and yet it is still harm, still a foul. "You should go," he says.

I leave. I leave behind my dreams, my children, my happiness. I leave Arthur behind.

Morgana is worth it.


	9. Arthur II

Lance floats into my life a few days after Arthur floats out of mine. Arthur is a future I cannot have, a future so out of my reach I cannot dare to dream. Lance is a possibility, he is within my grasp. He is good and he is kind and he can be a dream.

There is nothing wrong with Lance.

He makes me feel fine. He does not set the world on fire, does not take me into outer space, does not kiss me into oblivion. He offers me company, he protects me from harm. As far as potentials go, Lance is a safe bet. It is a bonus that he likes me; doubly so that he has eyes only for me and not Morgana. I fancy myself in lust with him because he is pretty. And sometimes, lust turns into love.

But, not this time.

Lance stays at my place until late into the night; he presses hot kisses into my palm as he bids me goodnight, cooks me dinner after long hard days. It is the start of an almost something; Lance has to jet off to exotic faraway countries, to do exotic, faraway things. He does not believe in long distance relationships; that's fine, I don't either. I need someone there, someone to touch, to hold, to stop me falling apart.

I am a girl unsure of who I am, of where I am heading. Unlike Arthur and Morgana, I have had no future decided for me; I struggle from day to day. Unlike Merlin I do not have a talent that will bind me to an unknown destiny. I am flotsam, floating, drifting into a vast ocean of possibilities. I will be forgotten, lost at sea. It is a thought that terrifies me, because I try to be everything I can be. I am everything and yet I am nothing.

I am unlike Lance, a man hell bent on journey despite the odds, despite the doubts. I admire his courage, his fortitude and self belief. I hope that some of him will rub off on me, that he will be the strength in my armour and guide my way.

Lance is a man, who I think has it together. He gets what life is about. He understands.

I am mistaken.

We utilise technology to keep in touch. When his emails stop, I know something is wrong. Morgana tells me the real reason; his grant has fallen through. It is an unfortunate happening that does not make me think less of him, but Lance thinks he is protecting me, thinks that I do not want to know about the troubles in his life. Perhaps he does not want me to know about his weaknesses.

Failure is not a weakness. It is a mere blip, a little setback. Failure makes you stronger. I am a testament to that.

Morgana holds out hope for my love life, hoping that Lance will revive it. She texts, little cheeky messages that make me blush and hide my phone when I am in company.

_Babe, u hav to tell me all about it!_

_Details sweetheart, details._

_Seriously, dying 2 know._

_Marks out of 10?_

_Gwen?_

_Gwen?_

_Gwenivere?_

Morgana ambushes me at work, sits on my desk until I have finished the page I am on and then demands details as she whisks me away for a spot of lunch. "Darling, you need a break," she says. "Lance can't keep you all to himself, I won't let him."

I smile a little. "I'm fine. And I've just been busy. There's nothing much to tell." It is true; Lance and I have done nothing but talk, nothing but exchange sweet nothings in front of the TV, exchanged emails that flow and waltz off the screen. To me they mean something, but to everyone else they mean nothing.

She just smiles, like there is something I do not know. "You're very secretive these days. I'm beginning to think there's more than one man involved."

I force a laugh through the rising feeling of something that is a lot like guilt. "When do I get to meet any decent men?"

She concedes. "We need to have a girl's night out. Us, whiskey and some damn good looking men."

I agree. The night we theoretically plan is something that never gets to happen.

Before we can be, Lance believes that he has things to prove to the world, to himself, to me. He promises to keep in touch; he half keeps this promise.

The atmosphere between Arthur and I is awkward. I avoid him; I do not know if he avoids me. I cannot avoid him forever though, but I delay it for as long as possible.

I see him after thirty seven hours.

Nothing has changed, but it feels like everyone knows, as we stand in the ball room, people chattering away about this and that. It feels like they are watching us, commenting on our every move. I feel guilty. And, as Arthur and I carry on our silted conversation, he excuses himself to say hello to his girlfriend. Morgana.

My guilt doubles, and then as he presses a kiss to her cheek, jealousy takes over.

Guilt comes again in full force. Stronger, even.

I have no right to feel anything. He is my best friend's boyfriend. It is a fact I cannot excuse, a reality we cannot escape.

Arthur dances with Morgana, and he stares at me all the way through the slow waltz. He stares at me like he wishes I was her, and I stare back.

We are two people trapped in a situation we do not want to be in. I cannot forget him, and he will not forget me. But, Morgana comes first. He will wait until she breaks up with him and I will wait until Uther gives his approval.

Until then, I am mind kissing him, because I cannot reach out to touch him. I will break if I do, fall apart at the seams. It will be ugly and inappropriate. Mostly inappropriate. He is my best friend's boyfriend. Even when they are not speaking, even when why are screaming at each other, blood pressures at an all time high, they belong together. Everyone else thinks so.

The glances we share are a touch too long. Our protests at being left alone together are a little too loud. The guilt is there; it is just buried underneath layers of obligation and differences.

He sends me little texts as we work. They always bring a smile to my face, a flutter to my heartbeat.

We are having an affair of the heart. It is wrong, but nothing has ever made more sense, has ever made me feel more alive. The world is against us, we cannot be. We must not be. It has been doomed from the start.

Morgana is Arthur's first love. It is a tempestuous love, full of highs and lows. He has a duty to her, his father and to the entire world. He is to marry her. Everyone says so.

It makes sense.

Even if it not what either of them wants.

We cannot rebel because we have divided loyalties and at the heart of it all, we are good people. We do the right thing. We are the good kind, or at the very least, we are trying to be.

Morgana is so busy she doesn't notice anything out of place. If Merlin notices, he says nothing. Morgana is busy pleading with Arthur to hear Alvarr out, then tries to sweet talk him into it. Arthur is impervious to her charm. That is what he tells Merlin. The truth is that Arthur is too stubborn to sit and listen to a sworn enemy. He has no time. In secret, Merlin tries to argue that there is a time and a place for compassion. This is one of those times.

Arthur cannot go against Uther.

Their arguments are useless.

They think Arthur is a powerful man. He is. But, even he cannot disobey Uther Pendragon. To do so is to risk his wrath. And that, as his enemies have found, is a dangerous mistake to make.

Morgana flaunts her disobedience of Uther Pendragon blithely. She does not care for retribution; she thinks herself untouchable. She is naive in her beliefs. Her acquaintances are sinister, but Morgana's glasses are too rose tinted to notice.

I have dinner once with Alvarr, by default. Morgana invites him around. I suspect she is attracted to him, as she tosses her hair, touches his arm gently. He spends most of the time either complimenting Morgana, or texting. He ignores me. In Morgana's presence, it is not uncommon for people to do so. I do not mind. I am socially awkward, even after all the functions.

After that night, I avoid him. He is a man who has a sinister hairstyle; a man who I know cannot be trusted. I see more than he thinks, as he slips a few of Morgana's papers into his jacket pocket when her back is turned. I cannot say anything; Morgana will tar me with the same brush as Arthur; we will both become people who hold her back.

It is better, for the both of us, if I see but do not tell.

It becomes a blessing in disguise when Alvarr is caught trespassing on Pendragon land and is arrested.

The arguments between Arthur and Morgana become more and more frequent. Every time they see each other, they argue. Merlin and I try to placate the both of them. We usher them from public events, try to protect their image in front of investors and the like. Rumours are that there is a problem in paradise. The word infidelity gets thrown around a lot.

My stomach churns. Guilt kicks in. I make myself absent. A lot.

It is not a betrayal for me to wish them apart. It is a betrayal for me to covet my best friend's boyfriend when she says she is in love with him. Even if it is a lie.

Morgana does not notice my absence. She is busy, busy campaigning and lobbying and doing whatever she can to save the world.

Arthur has not been factored in. None of us have been, really.

Twenty three is a magic number. It changes Morgana, changes the way she thinks. It is the age that she inherits her fortune, bequeathed to her by her late parents. For the first time in a long time, she is her own person, she is fully independent.

It is an eventuality that we will lose her.

It all kicks off on a Saturday, when Morgana just detonates. Uther is being his usual charming self. Everything he has done, everything he has ever said just rolls itself into a ball and explodes. She disowns him.

Things between her and Arthur become a little stilted after that. He is next in the firing line, then Merlin. It is only time it is me, I think, as I brush Morgana's hair gently. She is sitting on the floor, typing away furiously on her laptop, pen in mouth, another tucked behind her ear. Her Blackberry is not far away, buried underneath a stack of research papers. Morgana stays in my little flat for a month. She is welcome. I try and remain unobtrusive, try and keep her happy because I want to keep her just a little longer. I want to hang on to memories, onto her just that little bit longer.

Arthur stops me every day, makes purposeful visits under false pretences. He cares; he will always care – even though they are apart, two halves of a couple – he still cares. Morgana has that effect on people. I read the subtext underlying his words as he inquires about my home life; I tell him she is fine. I do not mention what she is up to, the kind of people she is mixing with. I do not tell him how her company is not entirely reputable, their behaviour even less so. Besides, Morgana is a woman on a mission. She will not be stopped.

Arthur does not take the break up well. He turns up to work, eyes tired, soul sad. I get a raise that month, a raise so generous it raises eyebrows. It is a ridiculous salary for an intern. I cannot refuse it; I am not stupid. It is not for me, I know, it is for Morgana.

So, I spend the money on little treats, things like fair-trade organic kitsch cakes to cheer her up after a particularly hard day and Colombian coffee to keep her going.

She leaves in September, with Morgause. There is nothing I can say, nothing any of us can say to keep her here. Merlin has committed the ultimate betrayal, she tells me. Do not trust him.

She does not give me a reason why, she just leaves.

I stare at her back as she walks out the house, arm laden with bags - old habits die hard - greeting Morgause. Morgause is a woman I have heard about, a woman who can seen on the news. In the flesh, she is frail, eyes smudged with kohl, anger shaking her very core, driving her very spirit. She is like Morgana; she should be - they are sisters.

I do not turn up to work the next day; I stay alone in an apartment that is empty and cold. Morgana has gained a sister, I have lost one.

Merlin texts when he does not see me at lunch. _Where r u?_

I don't answer.

I get a text from Arthur a little while after that. _Are you okay?_

I turn my phone off and make a cup of tea. I acclimatise myself to the lonely home, with imposing walls and carpet swallowing me up.

No one hears from me in days. They do not come looking. The world is busy; it forgets all about me.

I emerge from the house one day, a foreigner in this new world. My steps are stumbling, and I am brought up to speed on all the gossip at work by my co workers. I hear about Merlin's new love, I see what others do not. I am an observer in life; I have no life in me to participate.

That changes when Merlin needs me. I step up to the plate. I grow. I am the friend that I should have been to Morgana; I am worthy.

Arthur makes it difficult. We deny a lot of things, but we cannot deny what is there. We have gotten over one hurdle; we only have one more to do. "One day," he says, "when I am a CEO." They are words, just words. Lance has taught me that words do not mean much. They are just pretty syllables, alluring thoughts.

Thoughts that I cannot let go of, no matter how hard I try.

I have to let go of what cannot be. We started from secrecy; we transgressed from what was written in the stars. We dared defied the order of things; we cannot be. And, at the moment I have given up hope, Vivian happens.

Vivian is a woman who has high standards. She is a PR consultant who is demanding and mean, and there is nothing to do but laugh at her preposterous demands. Pendragon – mainly Uther – thinks that she is an important asset; Pendragon's image has suffered a blow in this financial crisis and the bad publicity is affecting stocks. It is not good; we need Vivian.

She thinks she is a rock star; I am the lucky intern assigned to pander to her needs. Arthur and I burst out laughing the second we step out of the boardroom."Good luck with that one." his eyes crinkle at the corners. Our gazes meet. I am rooted to the spot. He clears his throat, and I think he feels it too. "I need to prepare for the meeting."

I spend the rest of the day running errands for Vivian. She's worse than Arthur.

But, Pendragon's hope rests in her hands. She is formidable, has a formidable reputation. It apparently is well deserved; she has the sharpest business acumen in the business and she is ruthless. It is a combination that is useful, apparently.

After a particularly harrowing day, I find flowers on my desk, accompanied by a note. The flowers are ordinary, nothing spectacular but the note make my insides burst into flames.

_The barriers that keep us apart are nothing compared to true love. _

It is cheesy, but the sentiment is there. I finger the petals tenderly. They are smooth under my fingers, simple and yet they shine with beauty. I like to think they are beautiful because they are from him. In reality, they are a scraggly bunch of weeds.

Merlin bursts in, like he needs the bathroom and there is a urinal lurking somewhere on my wall. (There is not). "Merlin, can't you knock?"

He swallows and then "rats," comes out.

It is official, Merlin has lost the plot. He is no longer an eccentric scientist; he has progressed to full on crazy. "What?"

He gets on his hands and knees, and looks under my desk. "Big, hairy sharp teeth. Yeah, definitely under here."

He ducks under my desk, his rear pokes out. If I were Arthur, I would kick it.

I am not; I have more self control.

"You feeling all right?" I ask as he gets up.

Merlin seems occupied, and he absently gazes in the direction of the flowers I have placed in a vase. "Me, never better? You?"

I ignore his insanity. I'm used to it. "I'm having a very surprising day."

"Really?" Merlin snaps his eyes from the flowers to look at me.

I finger the petals of a flower. I cannot believe they are there. I think of the note in my pocket, burning a hole in my pocket, filling the gap in my chest. "You know one of those occasions when you've lost all hope and something out of the blue happens to restore your faith?

Merlin thinks briefly of his love that has passed. "Sort of."

"Well, that's what happened to me today." I smile at Merlin. Hope has seeped into my day, has made the world a better place.

Merlin smiles at me, then excuses himself. He needs the bathroom.

I seek Arthur after work. It is late; we have been working well into the night to put Vivian's plan into action. The pub is packed with fellow Pendragon colleagues, I greet the ones that I know, and keep my eyes on the door. I am waiting for him.

My fingers fiddle with my phone. A text is not sufficient enough for a thank you.

Arthur stumbles in, tie hanging loosely around his neck, one arm cradling a bottle of whiskey, the other slung around Vivian. The way she has wrapped herself around him, the way he reciprocates her kiss makes me realise that those flowers were not for me.

Arthur has moved on. It is time I move on too.

I leave the pub well before my colleagues.

I stop by Arthur's office the next day. "Ah, Gwenivere." Arthur looks up, and winces at the movement. His eyes are bloodshot, tie askew.

I place the flowers on his desk. "I think you sent these to the wrong person." The note is somewhere nestled amongst the stems, hidden from view. The flowers were placed on my desk, which many have confused for Vivian's. It is not a difficult mistake to make. We are next door to each other. It is more convenient that way; she can order me about as she sees fit.

Arthur groans. "Merlin." He fumbles with a bottle of water, and I take pity on him and open it for him whilst he takes some paracetamol. "Idiot was supposed to send some flowers to Vivian. She's been doing a great job."

I paste a smile on. "Yeah, I've heard. Shares are up. The public are really loving the new Pendragon image. It's great work; good stuff." I linger a little, wanting to say something. I do not, because there is nothing more I can say. "Good luck Arthur." There is a shareholder meeting tonight; Pendragon is to announce that they no longer require financial help from the government. It is a far cry from August, and it is great news.

Really great.

He looks up from the notes on his desk. There are bags under his eyes but his eyes are bright. They follow my every move.

"Good luck with the meeting. It'll go well, I know it will." I lean over the desk and kiss his cheek softly. My lips linger a little longer, my hand on his cheek caresses a little too tenderly.

Arthurs mouth flaps open. "Gwenivere," he starts to say, but I am already gone.

It is goodbye.

It is harder than I think.

I bury myself in work, in the blissful methodicalness of routine and boredom. There is much to do, much to wrap my head around. My mind becomes like a sponge, trying to absorb anything, everything. If I keep myself occupied, there is no time for me to think. No time for me to miss. No time for me to cry.

At lunch, they are delivered. I stop at the doorway, opposite Vivian's now empty office. She is long gone; I am still clearing out her things. The lone flower that lies on my desk this time is opluent. It screams of money and of power. The deep red bleeds into my desk, the lone solitary rose majestic and proud of it.

I step towards the desk, and pick up the flower, sniffing it. It smells just how it looks; exquisite. A voice makes me jump. "I thought I'd better deliver it in person this time. I'm sorry. Merlin and I were talking and I told him we needed to send some flower to Vivian. Strictly business. He must have got his wires crossed." He clears his throat. "Merlin told me you were at the pub last night." Merlin must have gotten his news from the grapevine. I have not told him this. "And you saw....you have to forgive me. For what I put you through, I..."

I cut him off. "You have nothing to apologise for. I, too, have caused my fair share of hurt."

He is desperate to put things to a right. He is that kind of person. "You must believe that my feelings for Vivian were not real. I was drunk. I have not betrayed you; I never loved another. Not like I love you." My heart skips. Love is strong word, a bad word. Things get cloudier with love; love muddies your vision. Love is something I crave and yet something I cannot have.

"But you have before. And, one day you will. One day you'll find your real princess. One day you will be CEO." I pause, my heart screaming no, my mind screaming yes. My head wins, so my heart in my throat and the words are on the tip of my tongue. "And I cannot be your queen." Arthur will forget me, and in time, I will forget him too.

His face is shocked, and his response is lightening fast. "You don't know that." He is trying to make a future for us. There is none. He is trying to draw a picture of a happy ending that can never happen.

"I am as sure of that as you are."

He pauses. "Things may change."

"Well until they do, Dr Pendragon." I flash him a sad smile and wait as he leaves. There is nothing more to say, nothing more we can do.

Hope has deserted me. There is no more left; the hurdles are too great, the price is too high. I will take my cross and I will bear it. All that I am, all that I was, there is nothing left. Everyone I cherish has grown, and I have grown too.

The world is not the same.

I am not the same.

Life carries on.

-x-

_Hope you've been enjoying this so far. Three more parts to go!_


	10. Arthur III

Lance and Arthur have a tentative relationship, borne out of their like of Merlin. Arthur accepts that Lance is a good scientist, that he has natural talent. Lance accepts that Arthur works hard, and that some of us are born luckier. They accept nothing else, except their mutual dislike.

Unlike Arthur, Lance is quick to smile, quick to share his good humour and dazzle us mere mortals with his pearly whites. I see him rarely; he floats in and out of my life. We never speak of serious issues; we skirt around things like feelings, things that I wish to speak of but dare not bring up.

In mid November, he dances his way back into my life and steals a part of me. Lance is instrumental in making me who I truly am, one of the many foundation blocks in my life. He teaches me belief, something that is greater than me, than Morgana. It is something that has the power to change the world, something that is great, something powerful.

It is one thing to have knowledge; another thing to use it for good.

Lance wants to save the world, wants to find a cure for cancer, create a cure for AIDs. And yet, he still has time for me, does not think a relationship a distraction. He consults me on his ideas, makes me feel like I belong by his side, like if he had to choose, he would choose me. A future together would not be entirely unfeasible.

He is so unlike Arthur, it is breathtaking.

He fends off Olaf like a knight in shining armour, like my personal hero. Lance has put aside his ideals; he confesses in the darkness of the night that he has let me down. He could never let me down, I say. Then, he has let himself down, he replies.

Disappointment seeps from his pores and I reach out to him. "Don't. You have so much going for you Lance. You got a scholarship - a prestigious one. How many people who came from where you did can say the same?"

Lance looks away as I bring one hand to tilt his chin towards me. "You might not be able to see it but I do. You're so talented. You owe it to the world to use that talent. To be great. When I'm old, I'll be able to tell the world I knew you, and I am proud to do so."

He envelopes my hand in his and we run away, to place we do not know, Olaf's men hot on our heels. Every time one of them gets close, Lance fends them off.

He yells at me to run, to go far, far away but I will not leave without him. "I'm not leaving you."

"You must! Go!"

I am not entirely a damsel in distress; I can fend for myself too. "No. I will not leave you here to die. Or worse." It is a possibility that has yet, remained unsaid like a lot of things between us.

Lance is profound in what he thinks are his last words. We exchange words ripped from a book of poetry, from lives that do not belong to us. "I would die for you one hundred times over. Live for me, or everything that I am has been for nothing." He is sure that tonight is his night to die. I cannot be certain that he will live beyond this night.

"As long as I live, my feelings for you will never fade." I mean what I say, but my words are not words of goodbye. I will not die tonight; I am sure of it; tonight is not my night. So, I do not leave him.

I hit a man with a well placed kick to his lower extremities, and together we run and we run until our lungs burn and we are sure we have lost each and every single one of the people following us.

Arthur comes to our rescue halfway, gathering me in his arms as I collide with his sure form. My clutch clatters to the floor, its contents bouncing free of its sequin confines as they skitter across the dirt.

"Nice to see you guys."

I am clamouring on the floor for my belongings, but Arthur pulls me away, Lance tugging insistently at my midriff. "Gwenivere, we have to go," Arthur says as between them, they whisk me away.

We run some more, Merlin lagging behind, puffing away as we seek refuge from the dripping sky in a bus shelter. None of us has a phone, save Lance who dials the number Arthur recites from memory. We expect two company cars to be with us soon; Arthur needs to go back to the party to keep up appearances and I just want to go home.

"I'm sorry. This is my fault." I touch Lance's brow gingerly. He is bleeding, but he won't need a few stitches. One eye is circled with a tinge of green; it will be a sight tomorrow, and after the adrenaline has worn off, it will hurt like hell.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You reminded me of who I am. I will die with faith in my heart. That is worth more than anything." I smile at him, sad I cannot offer him more. Eliciting faith seems paltry in comparison to saving me from Olaf's clutches.

Arthur pants, hunched over, his hands on his knees. "What are you doing here, Lance?" Merlin turns his head sharply, but Lance takes it in his stride.

"I came to save Gwen. What about you?" Lance straightens up, still panting.

Arthur squares his own shoulders. "Likewise."

Oh God.

This is a pissing contest.

Men. I roll my eyes, and Merlin looks like he agrees with me; he cannot roll his eyes - Arthur would add to his bruises.

Underneath the tight smiles and strained polite conversation lies jealousy. They are jealous of each other; Arthur the freedom Lance has, Lance the opportunities Arthur was born to. It is quite ironic, that two men, so different, would want what each other has and yet it is so - luck has dictated it.

"I am surprised you would undertake such a rescue mission with just the two of you." It is an observation from a highly observant man. Now that I think about it, I too, am surprised.

Arthur clears his throat, somehow embarrassed. "Father could not spare anyone; he needed them all at the party." He does not repeat what really went on; I can imagine the conversation. The gap between Morgana and I is wide; I am not one of their kind, I can never be one of their kind. I have already overstepped the mark, dared the glimpse their world, sampled their forbidden riches. Arthur's kiss is seared into my memory, and it gnaws away at my conscience.

Uther does not know I have encroached, but he knows that I do not belong and therefore I am of no relevance. Arthur is different; to him, employees matter. It is what will make him great, and what will be Uther's downfall.

"And yet you disobeyed him and came here anyway?" Lance is curious.

Arthur hesitates, the truth tumbling out of his mouth in a rush. "Truth is I only came because Morgana would have wanted me to."

I do not know what to think. It is silly of me to have expected more, to have thought that Arthur and I were more than what we really are. I do not know what to feel, and yet, the emotion is there, swelling at the pit of my stomach, swirling relentlessly. It is something an awful lot like disappointment. "I'll be glad to get back home," I say, swallowing to quell the rising feeling, "get some rest."

Arthur looks and me, and as I look back at him, it is like the world crashes around his ears. Everything fades into darkness, and it is just him and me. He is far, far away, locked in a glass cage that I do not have the key to.

He looks away first. "We should all get some rest," he mumbles. "It's been quite a day."

Arthur leaves before us. He has a party to go back to, people to butter up and a speech to make. He leaves me with the hollow assurance that I am somewhat fine and alright in Merlin's hands. He acknowledges Lance, says that both he and Morgana (he adds her name as a formaility, I think) are grateful for my safe return.

Arthur knows Morgana as well as I do. "I'll see what I can do about your research grant. I'm sure Pendragon has need of a man like you." It is something that Morgana would do, an action she would approve of. Even in her absence, we are haunted by her presence. Everything reminds me of her. I miss her. I suspect we all do.

Merlin hovers as Arthur leaves, throws glimpses he thinks are discreet at Lance and I huddled together in the bus shelter. I cannot hear what they are saying; I am too tired to care.

Arthur looks at me in a way that almost spells betrayal. It is written across his face, plain for anyone who is looking to see. It is a look that pains me, because it is not betrayal. I cannot tell what he wants with me, where I fit into his life, what role I should play. We have both been a disappointment to each other tonight; we dance around each other in circles.

It is then that I decide.

Tonight, things change. It ends.

Tonight is the dawn of a new era, because tonight I have Lance.


	11. Arthur IV

Leon pulls up in the limo and we say goodbye to Merlin who has ordered a cab to go back to his own home. Lance and I pile in, grateful of the warmth.

"Thanks Leon," I say gratefully.

He just nods and silently hands Lance an envelope.

"Where to?" He says in a soft voice as he pulls out of the bus shelter, checking the rear view mirror.

"Home." Right now, it is the only place I want to rest my weary head.

Lance is occupied with the contents of the envelope Leon has handed him. "Holy shit." In his hand is a plane ticket. It is a surprise. It seems we have been reunited only to be broken apart again.

Arthur has worked fast; he has done what he said he would. This is the beginning of something great, something wonderful. He has been searching for something like this for months; the people who have his fate in their hands are dithering; our economy is not in a good state, they are unsure if funding Lance's research will be of any benefit. It is a gamble in an unstable situation; it requires much thought. And yet, here is proof that Arthur Pendragon is a man of his word. He does what other men do not; he makes dreams come true, makes research grants possible. It is as opportunity Lance has been waiting for his whole life, and here it is, in his hand.

It is wrong of me to wish that he would choose me. It is human nature to be selfish, but it is fundamentally wrong. I give him a tight smile and congratulate him.

Lance just looks at me. I can see his dilemma. A long term relationship is not an option. It is not a good idea. It is me or his dream. He almost chooses me. Almost.

I will not let him give up his dream, not when it is so close. I have dreams too; I do what I would want him to do for me. I tell him to go.

It is the answer he has been waiting for. It is an amazing opportunity. He is grateful for the chance.

We pretend we are in love and that morning will not come. We cherish the little time we have left, ignore the fact that things will change. It is inevitable that the limo ride will end, even though Leon takes the long route to Lance's flat.

Lance melts my heart with a sweet kiss, and then tells me he loves me. At the time, I mean what I say. "I love you too."

I imagine he is Arthur.

The sunflower that Lance gives me on that fateful night lies pressed between the pages of an old school textbook on my bookshelf. The petals are no longer a vibrant yellow; they have mellowed to a dusky gold; rich, deep.

The flower is a reminder of a night of hope and unexpected surprises. Not all surprises are good; I have learnt that the hard way.

The next day, Lance leaves on a flight I do not know the details of. He sends me a text, one that is short and curt and severely lacking in sentiment. It is not what I expect, for him to up and leave. It is a punch to the heart, a sour taste in my mouth that burns my throat as the tears seep from my eyes. I expect closure, a last final, tragic goodbye.

I am cheated of my farewell.

Merlin sits as I turn my back to him, furious at my weakness, brushing the tears aside. Merlin whispers nice things into my ear, says that it was probably too hard for Lance to say goodbye. That if he saw me one last time, he would not leave. I think that it is nice of Merlin to try. He tells me he and Arthur stopped by Lance's place after I had left to go home and sleep. He says Lance told him to say sorry, that I have changed him forever... but some things cannot be. He did not say anything more.

I figure that it is destiny. I am not meant to be with Lance. Long distance is too hard.

Being alone is too hard.

Being with Arthur is a maybe in a too distant future.

It is the unfairness of it all that makes me cry, that makes me mourn the loss of Lance. I have decided none of these things; they have been decided for me. I do not have a say in my life, in other people's lives. I have worked too hard to be diligent and faithful; it has become my nature. I do not rebel; I am not angry. I understand compassion. I know why.

It is just unfair.

Before things get better, they have to get worse. Arthur bears the brunt of it; he accepts the role gracefully even though his heart is breaking. Pendragon has a new CEO. It is the start of a new era.

The shareholders are restless; they think Arthur too young, too naive, too inexperienced for this role. They have concerns despite the fact that he has been preparing for this moment his entire life. He will prove them wrong; I know he will.

Merlin aids him, supports his decisions in the boardroom, works just as late. He is the one who persuades Arthur to come out for a drink, to take a break when Arthur sits in the darkened room by Uther's side, one eye on his father, the other on company reports.

Arthur thinks he must bear this burden alone, thinks that this is something he must do by himself. It is only time before he breaks, because the truth is that no one should have to be alone.

Especially not him.


	12. Arthur V

Arthur turns up on my doorstep late one night. I opened the door, and we collide. He is like a man possessed, a man whose world has spun around so fast he does not know where he is. He reeks of whiskey and smoke, the fumes cling to him and he clings to me.

"I can't do it," He is crying, bleeding his tears into the crook of my neck. "It's too much. Too hard."

He is right. It is too much for anyone to bear, to see their father so and to have to shoulder the responsibility of a global company. It is too much both mentally and physically. Arthur needs Morgana.

I am no replacement, but I will have to do.

I pour Arthur a glass of water, and I sit with him the dark, stroking his hair as he lays his head in my lap. I offer him everything I can; company, support, loyalty. Everything I am, I give to him. I cannot give him more.

"Arthur?" I whisper tentatively into the dark.

"Yeah?" His voice is horse, full of emotion that makes my heartstrings tighten and my heart contract painfully.

I clear my throat. "It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings...his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."

Arthur opens his eyes to look at me, blue beacons in the black night. "That's beautiful Gwenivere."

I give him a sad little smile and tuck a stand of hair behind his ears. "Good old Teddy."

Arthur just returns my smile, and his eyes bore holes into mine. We cannot break eye contact; I am drinking the sight of him in. Even now, he is beautiful.

We fall asleep on the couch. Morning comes too soon.

Merlin comes by to pick him up, a change of suit in one hand, homemade hangover tonic in the next. Daylight streams in through the window. Arthur nods politely at me, as he emerges from the bathroom. The closeness that was there between us last night has disappeared with the darkness.

"Thank you...for everything, Gwenivere," he says as he leaves. In the daylight, he is more assured, more confident; his posture is poised, and the frown in the corners of his mouth is less pronounced. Arthur is himself, eyes only faintly rimmed with red, banter on the tip of his tongue. He appears a man who cannot be touched by the world; he is resilient; he is a Pendragon.

Pendragon's prevail.

When I go to work that morning, I start a collection for Uther. People are not generous; we have all at some point suffered under his reign. I add my name to the card, embellishing the blanks spaces with a few names of fellow colleagues. I cannot be sure if I am doing this for Uther or Arthur.

The flowers I order are not the most exotic or even the most costly. They will be lost in a room full of roses and other showy flowers. The freesias I have chosen are a beautiful shade of yellow; they cheer me up and I hope they will bring a little cheer into Uther's life too.

As expected, the housekeeper just places them on the mantelpiece without a second glance. There, they are overshadowed by the abundance of roses and sneered upon by the multicoloured lilies.

Uther is in his living room, staring out of the window behind glassy eyes. Beside him, his nurse reads from the newspaper, smiling indulgently as he gurgles words we cannot decipher.

She treats him like a child, fussing over him as she arranges the blanket covering his legs. "Father," Arthur bends down so they are at eye level, "Remember Gwenivere?" Morgana's friend. Her name is a word that remains unsaid, a word forbidden in a house that pines for her.

Uther turns his head with much difficulty; he is lucky he can even do so. He stares at me, dull eyes seeing, mind not registering. It is such a far cry from the Uther that was, that it cannot be him. It cannot be the same person before me. And yet, it is.

This is a new Uther Pendragon I see. He is a man who cannot speak his mind, whereas he had never hesitated to before. I see frustration as he cannot place me, his fingers curving to form a loose fist. His movements are jerky as his fist hits the padded arms of his wheelchair.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Arthur shoots a glance at me as Uther babbles incoherently. "I'm sorry Gwenivere," he says swiftly. "He's a little tired right now." He grabs his father's fist gently.

"Stop that," the nurse says in a soothing voice. Her arm is on Uther's other hand.

Cumulatively, they smooth his tantrum with soothing words and hollow assurances.

Arthur turns to me, forgotten in the corner. "Maybe you should go."

I do not take offense. It is only natural Arthur would not want anyone to see his father like this. "Of course." I make my excuses and leave.

It is nice to know that Uther Pendragon has not entirely ceased to exist. He is still stubborn, still bad tempered. But, he is not whole. It is like when Morgana left, she took a part of him with her. The truth is that she took a part of all of us with her.

I take long strides from the living room, across the marble floor. The Pendragon town house is exactly as I remember, but with no Morgana here, grey touches every room. The lobby is every bit as opulent, every bit as extravagant as last time, but it is not the same.

"Gwenivere." Arthur stops me, his own footsteps echoing as he walks towards me. "Thank you for coming."

I bite my lip as I play with the strap of my bag. "You're welcome. We wanted to do something, at the office for him." I nod my head with conviction; hope he will forgive my little white lie.

He lets it slide. "Well then, send my thanks to them as well."

I smile brightly. "I will."

I like to think that my smile is infectious as the corners of his lips quirk upwards, ever so slightly. He sighs, as he leans against the doorway.

He looks tired.

"He didn't recognise you," he says as he tiredly rubs his face with one hand. "It frustrates him, not knowing new people, new things. He hates change." He stops, and his voice falters. "Sometimes he forgets who I am. And I can't be there all the time."

Everything unsaid from last night spills out. "He still loves you," I say.

"How can he? He doesn't even know who I am." The words are tart, sprouting from his mouth in a stream he cannot control. "I'm working so hard to hang onto Pendragon, and he doesn't even know it. I'm up at all hours, I'm tired and Morgana isn't here. She's fucking everything up, trying so hard to bring Pendragon down." He grips my arms. "You know it was her that sabotaged the Neahtid project? Do you know how much it cost Pendragon just to commission one crystal? We were lucky we could just scrape enough together to recover from that little endeavour of hers, because it almost ruined us." He stops to swallow. "She hates us. All of us." His grip loosens a little, as he remembers who he is and where we are. "I can't even tell him what's happening. It'd kill him." He lets out a little hollow laugh. It chills me to the bone.

"Arthur..." Arthur is changing before my very eyes. He is beautiful crystal, cracking, falling apart. He has nothing to hold him together, and his world is spinning out of control.

His breath is gentle across my cheek. We are fused to the spot, captivated by each other. To him, I represent a day where the only complication was that he had the hots for his girlfriend's best friend; to me, he represents someone who needs me.

It is a compulsion, Merlin says. I have to be noble. I have to do the right thing. I have always done the right, thing, even if it hurts.

Merlin throws a napkin at me. "You're so good Gwen."

It is not true.

I look down as Merlin continues. "Do me a favour?"

I look up. "Sure."

"Promise me that one day, you're going to do something for you. Just for you."

Merlin stumps me with that request. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just promise me." Merlin is serious, leaning over the table, eyes wide.

"I promise." It falls from my lips, just to please Merlin.

He is satisfied and therefore, I am too.

Merlin and Arthur are not the only ones who work late. I spend my time going over and over the preliminary bioprocesssing calculations, pour myself over the strategies that have very carefully been compiled. I do this partly for me, partly for Pendragon which has become my home.

"Ah, Gwenivere," Arthur says as I walk into his office. I am there strictly on business. "I'm glad you could come."

"I heard you wanted me to look over something?"

Arthur looks up from his computer screen. "Yeah, it's actually quite important. I'd like your opinion." He is coy, a look that I thought impossible a few months ago.

"Sure," I agree, my smile reflecting his. Arthur seems a little bit more relaxed; stocks are up and slowly inclining. Forecasts for next year precedent even Uther's own ambitions for Pendragon.

He gets up from his seat, ushering me into the plush leather so I can look at what has gotten him so excited.

It is not what I expect.

The new pension package is generous, feasible. It is something that is almost unheard of, something that lets me know that Arthur has truly come into his own. He has used his own money to part fund this scheme, a scheme which is in its own right genius. Arthur has blossomed under hardship, risen from the rubble and emerged a man who is worthy. More than worthy.

He is all that he can be, and I am so proud.

We are back to friends, back to the silly little in jokes and the witty banter. I would not exchange my friendship with Arthur for the world, would not want it to change for anything.

And yet, it does.

Not all surprises are bad.

It is an ordinary day when it changes. It is just another day, only it is not.

It all falls down to one simple action. One kiss. One moment of letting go of everything, everyone. No expectations set you free. They let you soar. It happens at the Christmas party, when the wine is free and the merriment is plentiful.

We get trapped underneath the mistletoe, Merlin smirking as he demands we follow tradition.

"Who am I to argue?" Arthur says, like he has never argued with Merlin.

I cannot take my eyes off him. "Indeed," I whisper.

He kisses me like he means it. Like it is the last time that he will ever see me. He kisses me like he is saying goodbye. He cannot go, I will him not to go. I will not let him.

I hold him close, ingraining the feel of his body against mine. I do this for me, just me. My lips press into his and send the world away in a haze, teleport us somewhere in the universe where we can just be.

It is a selfish act, of which no good can come, but I return the kiss. Mine is longing, sweet and full of promises of things yet to come. His frantic hands still, and settle on my waist. He pulls me closer. He cannot leave and I cannot stay.

It becomes hard to feel. It is hard to hear. It is hard to think beyond the roaring of blood in my ears, beyond the disbelief. When you spend so long trying to deny something, when you deny yourself something, it becomes almost a dream when it is happening.

It does not feel real. I do not pinch myself.

And like in my dreams, he does not go.

I am believer. At the end of it all, I am a believer in life and in love and I believe, with all my heart in Arthur. He the man I dream about, the one I come home to and the one I have been waiting for. He is the good kind.

Our engagement comes as a surprise, to the both of us, but nothing has ever felt so right. We keep it quiet for as long as possible, reluctant to rub Morgana's face in it. No matter what we do, the news will smart. It will cause her hurt, hurt we never meant to cause. She will think back, and she will remember what a bastard Arthur was, and she will think that all my sisterly actions were insincere. There is no way for me to tell her, no way to make her understand. Her mind is closed, set on a path of destruction and hate. She will not remember the good times, the times that I treasure most.

She is an idealist that has turned cynical.

Arthur does not like speaking of her. He loves her still, much like I love her. Like Uther, she is a topic we steer clear of, a subject that makes us still and silent. Merlin sometimes forgets that we do not speak of her when he reminisces, third beer in hand, fond memories on the tip of his tongue. Arthur and I stiffen, and I offer Merlin another drink, despite the fact that he has not yet finished the one in his hand yet.

He accepts my offer, and on his fifth beer, he passes out.

Merlin is a lightweight, Arthur says. He says it with scorn, but there is laughter in his eyes as he presses his forehead to mine, our noses touching, bumping. Eskimo kisses.

Morgana is not physically here, but we can feel her presence in spirit.

She rocks up to the December ball, the first event where Arthur formally takes over Uther's duties. Arthur is now a CEO, and things are different. We are all different. A lot can change in one year. A lot did change this year.

Merlin was right. Morgana's hair is no longer the flowing river it once was. It is now cropped close to her scalp, her ears peeking, all seeing. Her eyes blaze, as her gaze drops to my fingers interlinked with Arthur's. I do not drop his hand. I hold her gaze, and from across the room, I see a small smile tugging on her lips, her jaw lifting as she nods slightly. The look is not quite forgiveness. It is a begrudging acceptance.

I want to race across the room and throw my hands around her. I want to kiss her and tell her I love her, that she's home and that's all that matters. I don't care what she's done, or what she hasn't done. I know Morgana by heart, and she is back. She is where she belongs.

Instead, I stay where I am; watch as she disappears into the crowd. I cannot go after her; it is too soon. She is hurt, but I know that she will heal. She is Morgana. She will prevail. Just because she has lost her way does not mean we have closed her hearts to her. One day, though, it will all be worth it and she will come home and she will be welcomed with open arms.

But for now, she is the prodigal sister of Pendragon.

Merlin appears by my side. He has seen her too. Gaius is close by. He apologises. "I'm sorry. I didn't know she was going to be here." He is the aloof benefactor, the wise old man.

I smile and lay a hand on his arm. "She is always welcome," I say. Gaius nods. He still cares for her too; we all do. It is her that has turned from us, not the other way around.

If Arthur sees her, he does not mention it. My engagement party is overshadowed by the fact that she is here, in this very room and not with us. Life is almost perfect, almost beautiful and almost great.

It will not be complete without her.

I catch a glimpse of her dancing with Leon, one arm looped around his neck. On the dance floor they are equals. Her smile is brilliant, in response to his low murmur and her head is thrown back, her laugh tinkling from her throat.

She is happy.

That is all that matters.

Arthur catches my attention by bumping his leg with mine. "D'you want to dance?" The way he looks at me is indescribable. It makes my heart race, makes my mouth go dry and makes me feel like I can do anything. Like I can be anyone. He acts like I am his world. I am his, all his, heart and soul.

And he is mine. He lives for me.

Our destiny spreads before us. I do not expect a smooth ride; this past year has taught me that. I am simple at heart, simple despite the finery. I do not need it, it weighs me down.

I still feel the same, like an outsider in a world where I can never belong. Everyone who is anyone, buzzes around the room, full of flashy smiles and quick anecdotes. Even the waiters seem to be more comfortable than I am. They are more at home in my home than I am.

Arthur is my link to that world, my gateway, my protector. He, for all intents and purposes is my keeper; I have entrusted him with my heart and he has entrusted me with his. I have found that I belong at his side; now, I must find my purpose.

I still don't know what I want to be. I am not like Arthur; I still have much growing left to do to get to who I want to be.

The year draws to a close. It is December thirty first once more. The clock ticks, seconds trickling by, people counting down.

And then, with one stroke and millions of streamers in the sky, we greet in the New Year. I taste the champagne on my lips, on Arthurs and I know it will not be easy. New beginnings are never easy.

There is only one thing that can be certain - we will weather the storm.


End file.
